When I lived alone, people would look at my kitchen as being very sad. "You have nothing! ARE YOU HUMAN?" There wasn't much food in it (the refrigerator was practically empty) but it was for good reason; if I have food around, I'll eat it. Whatever happens to be around would have to be pretty inedible on it's own for me to not eat it (such as the bottle of olive oil I have. I've also considered digging into the bag of sugar I have with a spoon, but thankfully have not been pushed to do so. If I do, I'll let you know ...after I've been taken to a mental institution).
However, I have a roommate now and the kitchen is well stocked with edible substances that might be digestible. I still wouldn't eat most of them, but today for lunch I ate about a third of my roommate's angel food cake and four of her marshmallows. I feel fine, but I know this isn't healthy at all. God knows what my body is getting out of this. I'm predicting that I'll get diabetes when I get older.
Honestly though, I was too lazy to go out. I eat with a friend nearly every Wednesday and if something comes up, she usually calls. I haven't heard from her today. Hm. Chinatown is less than 15 minutes away but I'm still in my pajamas. This is sad.
And I ate my roommate's food. [sigh]
UPDATE: My roommate has had a loaf of bread in the fridge for a while. I ate a slice. God...dammit. If she doesn't come back soon, I'll eat all her worldly possessions. On the upside, I actually changed out of my pajamas into real clothing that has not been subjected to rolling around in my bed that is probably full of microscopic dust mites feeding on my dead skin cells (hey, they're in your bed too).