Intent on making 2017 your Best Year Ever? We can help with that, thanks to our 2017 Coach of the Month series. For July, we have Samantha Irby, author of We Are Never Meeting In Real Life. This week, she implores you to stop cutting the doughnuts in the break room into 1/8 sections because you're cutting carbs or some shit and just eat the whole fucking thing because work is stressful and life is full of misery and pain masquerading as urgent emails from your supervisor.

I am a stress eater in its purest form: a mindless nibbler who reaches for the bag of Red Vines tucked inside my desk drawer after a particularly stressful phone call, a bored gorger of handfuls of pistachios because there's nothing on TV and I don't feel like going outside, a giant sad panda huddled in bed mindlessly shoving spoonful after spoonful of ice cream into her mouth in an attempt to dull the pain that is life on this planet. Rarely does it occur to me to "grab a healthy snack." WHAT DO THOSE WORDS EVEN MEAN. Okay, fine. I, like most women who've read a magazine in the last decade, understand that the phrase "rice cakes with avocado" is supposed to be a solution to the problem of "I'm stressed out and need to shovel something in my face to distract myself from the emotional injury" but in the real world there are M&M's.

I never get all weird and mean when I get hungry, but also I really don't think there has ever been a time when I have truly felt hungry. Sometimes I'll look up at the clock as it crawls toward lunchtime and think, "It's time to eat the rage from these last four human interactions in the form of whatever potato chip crumbs have been left behind in the break room," but I can't ever think of a time that hunger was a tangible thing. I have wanted food, and I have needed food, but I have never needed needed food. And when I do want it, I'm never just dying for a bite of apple. No lying awake longing for just a sliver of green bean or a spoonful of cottage cheese, no fantasizing about dark leafy greens liberally misted with lemon juice, no visions of sugar-free plums dancing gaily through my head, just tap dancing sweaty cubes of pepper jack cheese.

It's always hilarious to me when stumbling across the box of bagels some thoughtful person left for everyone in the communal kitchen, bagels I expect to momentarily shine a ray of light into the bottomless pit of my day, only to lift the lid and be confronted by several of them with a bite-sized section excised from their doughy curves. BUT Y THO. Who are the people who do this? Is it you!? You deserve the entire bagel! I promise you, you do. Even if you're already over the allotment of breakfast calories that app you downloaded two years ago and usually forget to use has set aside for your morning meal: Go ahead and dip into those lunch points, girl. Because here's the thing, even if your phone is gonna overheat trying to calculate the handful of fries you snuck off your friend's plate last night or the six bites of Cool Whip you ate directly from the tub last Tuesday, when you try to add ⅛ of a workplace lemon poppyseed muffin, your phone is going to mock you. And you know what else? The girl you hate two cubicles over most certainly does not deserve that unsightly ⅞. And sure, that's almost an entire doughnut you left behind but you touched it. With your hand- sanitized fingers you grabbed an oatmeal cookie your boss's wife probably dropped on the floor after it came out of the oven and took a dull knife to it then left its crumbling remains in the GladWare container he definitely has to return home with. And that's a crime, because that cookie is easily the best part of your benefits package. So eat the whole thing. Jog tomorrow.

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