Fucking disgusting food

Good morning. I'm choking down toast and coffee this morning. There is nothing I can do to this toast to make it taste good, and there is nothing else that I can handle putting in my stomach. Food is just gross and today I wish I had a pill I could take or a shot or something that would make me not faint and hungry but make me not have to eat. Eating is just gross. I don't want to do it but I have to. But on the upside, I'm solidly in the 130's now and counting. Yesterday I finally made a stew that I have been wanting to make for a few days now. The stew turned out ok, although it lacked something that I couldn't identify. I managed to both undercook and burn the rice at the same time. I haven't made rice in a saucepan for years because we had a rice cooker. When my ex-husband moved out, I gave him everything he could take from the kitchen because I felt sorry for him. So I'm re-learning to cook rice in a pan, and becoming suddenly aware of how many things you can't do without a blender, and holding off buying either one until the refinance goes through and the holidays are over and I won't be completely broke. My jeans don't fit anymore and I can't buy new ones so I just keep pulling them up. The next size down set of jeans in my drawer is from, I don't know, 1998 and does not quite fit me yet. But I bought a can opener, so that's exciting. Yeah can opener. And pretty soon my ancient jeans will fit me again. I make exactly one pot of coffee every 2 or 3 days and just drink off of that. Sometimes I accidently microwave the same cup of coffee twice and it gets more horrible each time but I drink it anyway. What the hell is my problem? I have a French press, I could use that. I think it's time to put away the industrial sized coffee pot, it was never intended for one person. Maybe I'll give it away. Maybe I'll get rid of everything that was meant for more than one adult person. Maybe I'll sell the house that was so clearly built as a little love nest for a sweet Mormon family to start cranking out babies in. I feel like I don't deserve this much space. Maybe I'll buy a trailer on like 10 acres of land that I won't have time to take care of, but I'll somehow find the time to study it like it is my own research plot as it grows over and collects debris until the county sends me an abatement letter. Then I'll burn the trailer down and sell the land and start over. Maybe I'll build a treehouse for my daughter and I and we can live in it and be happy. Exactly 2 rooms, mine and hers. No more space than is necessary. When she moves out to begin a life of her own I'll adopt 50 cats and just be the cat lady with purple hair who lives in the tree. Children will be afraid of me. I'll read a lot, and grow herbs, and hum to myself all the time. A neighbor with a chronic illness that keeps them isolated will look out their window at me each day and begin writing stories that will become the next magic/adventure series to sweep the planet. They'll become rich and famous, but without the transphobia, and their life will be grand. I'll be blissfully unaware that any of it has occurred. One day I'll die in my tree house and the fire department will have to come to get me out and I'll be very difficult to dislodge and everyone will grumble about the pain-in-the-ass weird old lady who had to go and die in the treehouse. I will secretly enjoy the spectacle from afar. The coffee is still gross but I am drinking it like medicine because I know I won't be able to function on 3 hours of restless sleep without it. I'll try to remake the rice tonight so we can have something with our leftover stew for dinner. I'll inventory the food in the pantry and come up with a grocery list that will provide us with the most cost efficient and nutritious food I can for the week. I'll pick up my spine and kick my panic to the curb and do what needs to be done to get through the week looking as put together as possible. That’s all I got.