Sartorial uncrisis

I knew I was okay when I was wearing pants again.

The hunger of which I wrote yesterday—the intense hunger that hit me on Monday afternoon—was a relief of sorts, a sign that I was back. But it wasn’t the first sign. That was on Monday morning, when I was getting dressed for work, and I could actually bring myself to wear pants. Which meant not only putting on pants, but also coordinating a matching shirt and putting that on, too. You see, last week—the three days of last week that I went to work—all I could do was throw on a dress, which is a lazy outfit. Last week, the thought alone, not to speak of the execution, of an outfit out of more than one piece was too much for me. But this week, I was once again wearing pants. And eating food.