I entered into this New Year just like everyone else: fresh with optimism, full of heady ideas about eating healthy and making some smart choices in my life.

That lasted all of one day.

Remember last year when I was all “I resolve to make things different!” and then I had the worst year of my life? This year, I’m taking the opposite approach. I’m just going to keep doing whatever it is I’ve been doing—and that includes stuffing my face as though I’ll never see another morsel of food again.

I’m not quite sure where this is coming from. Part of it may be in rebellion, since three-quarters of my office are on this detox/whole foods kick and they’ve lost a collective umpteen-thousand pounds. I’m happy for them, and they seem happy too, but I have no energy/desire to join them. I’d rather be enjoying my meatballs and hot dogs and pizza and cheese (even though I recently discovered I’m lactose intolerant. Seriously.)

Maybe it’s just that I’ve come upon a rather difficult time of the year, emotionally. Today marks the one-year anniversary of my cousin’s death. (Boy this post just took a sudden emo turn.) I’m not going to dwell on that here. But I don’t think the late-night trips to the fridge are happening in a vacuum. And that’s all I have to say about that.

I’ve been making half-hearted attempts to reel in the eating. I’ll pack myself a really healthy salad for lunch, and it will be delicious, and I will enjoy it. But 30 minutes later, I’m snacking on chicken puffs in the kitchen and contemplating whether to run out and grab something for second lunch.

Late nights are the worst, though. Once again, I’ll eat a decently healthy dinner with fair portions that leave me satisfied but not stuffed. But once 10pm rolls around, all bets are off. I’ve cracked into the leftovers like a burglar cracking a safe, waiting until Alex goes upstairs so I can shamelessly stuff my face with meats and cheeses and sauces and crackers and chocolate. Each time I think, “Okay, that’s enough. This is getting gross.” Then a minute later, I hop up off the couch and go grab “just one more thing” until I’m full to the point of discomfort and regret.

And yet…

There’s something freeing about not really giving a crap. I see everyone around me scrambling to be healthy and I’m all “see you on the other side!” Because I know come February, they’ll start sneaking their snacks, just one cheat here, another cheat there. And by March they’ll be in full-blown munchie mode and I’ll be all “Welcome to the club! Was it worth it?”

So for lunch today, I’m foregoing all pretenses and going to get myself a delicious tri-tip sandwich from Mundos. You really only live once. And I’m going to live my life enjoying all the delicious food this world has to offer.

…that is, until my pants stop fitting. Which may be sometime next week.