When I get up at 6:30 in the morning, because I need an extra half an hour to weigh my breakfast and measure out my lunch; then it sometimes crosses my mind that maybe I’ve gone a little overboard with the whole control thing –
But, because I’m in a rush (by the time I’ve spent the prescribed minutes eating each regulated teaspoonful in the right order), and as I have become accustomed (over the years) to my drawn out morning routine, I push the thought aside -
For a while –
Until, on the odd occasion that a meeting runs into my snack time, and I notice that the panic, which is coursing through me, doesn’t seem to be shared by the other people in the room; then I start to wonder whether I’m really in control – or just controlled.
And when they go for lunch (without pre-arrangement) or pick at the plate of cakes that’s circling the office (without knowing what’s in them) or “fancy” a bar of chocolate (because it would taste nice), I’d have to say that the latter appears more probable.
And, if weren’t for the detour to three different supermarkets to buy the right brands of the correct foods on my way home –
Or the fact that I was cooking each meal from scratch so that I could account for each and every ingredient –
I could convince myself that the verdict was still in the balance.
And, if I didn’t decline the dinner invitation on the basis that I can’t quite manage the menu and I can’t be sure of the timing –
Or, if I was happy leaving the party because my head would prefer that I was home, at night, for breakfast at 6:30am in the morning -
Then I might be able to argue that I was happily in control…
…rather than controlled.