I should have eaten those damn fries.

4:30 PM: “Okay, one more meeting let’s talk about the investment. I ordered some snacks.” This was after a two and a half hour long product presentation and discussion.

4:45 PM: The snacks arrived. 6 Filet-O-Fish sandwiches, 6 regular fries, 6 drinks. I was glad that he ordered Filet-O-Fish, it justifies his lemon-infused glass of water. It somehow takes the guilt of doing a cheat day when you’re on the 15th day streak of your ketogenic diet.

It fit agonizingly perfect on my right hand. It’s the weight of defeat. I opened the blue, unappetizing wrapper and saw the three layers of denial. I ate the Filet-O-Fish slowly, being conscious of the gap between the bun and the “fish fillet” in every bite. I remember how tangy the white sauce was, how it left that same smell on the napkin I used to wipe my mouth with. I remember the catharsis that filled my mouth every time a piece of lettuce touch my awaken taste buds. I didn’t touch any of those wicked hepatitis-colored potato sticks. I simultaneously recognize and reject its existence in the corner of my eye.

“Hey, how bad could one lonely, innocent stick be? I’m still below my sodium intake for the day, this shouldn’t be that shameful.”

My ketogenic, sodium-deprived logic prevailed. I checked the drink, it wasn’t pineapple juice, I have trust in my saliva to get the job of sliding down that sin on a bun.

5:07 PM: Talk about efficiency, we we’re able to discuss a proper profit-forecasting for a startup co-investment, identified costs to reduced, and listed actions to move forward.

I didn’t bring a car. My two colleagues are going in a different way. I decided to stay for a while since it’s a Friday rush-hour drenched in a Philippine-August rain. It’s ghost month after all.

7:38 PM: I’m still trying to book an Uber or a Grab. It’s been two hours and twenty one minutes since the sin. The receptionist already left and very kindheartedly left her colleagues’ iPhone charger with me.

This is an attempt to distract myself from the fact that my intestines are cannibalising themselves. I feel a deep sense of regret along with that haunting image of salty-relief. Thanks for sticking with me, I hope you don’t do the same mistake.

Read the title.