‘Twas the night before Thanksgiving in the food addict’s home. All the relatives were sleeping, and the food addict sat alone. “Should I eat some pie in this peace and quiet? Or should I be a good girl and stick to my diet?”…
by Christina Fisanick Greer, Ph.D. The Optimistic Food Addict At least ten times during my ascent up the mountain I was sure that I wouldn’t make it. My son, husband, and I decided to hike to the top of Seneca Rocks, the only…
by Christina Fisanick Greer, Ph.D. I take a deep breath and squat, my skin barely touching the seat of the outhouse toilet. I pee as fast as possible, wipe, and toss. I nearly break into a run fleeing the small, reeking confines of…
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