My body is a balloon. I love to inflate it by swallowing massive hot food in the tiny suqare of darkness at midnight. When the whole body is heated up the sleepiness knocks the door, to make sure no dreams no waking-ups untill the alarms ring.
No more skinny face in the next morning. Plus some knots under the left side of my chest.
At some point, like, when it was hard to zip that S size jeans, I doubt if I should continue inflating this balloon, because I hate the hassle of looking for new clothes.
The sane choice would be — not wasting the energy and time to swallow food. Five to six hours of stillness with empty stomach is magic to a deflated balloon.
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