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Zeigarnikfrustrationitis

If I could add the German suffix equivalent of “itis” to the end of that word, I would diagnose myself with that disease.  Zeigarnikfrustrationitis.   Reflecting on the last 20 or so years of my life as a self-feeding person, I don’t think I have ever eaten just one half of anything that was not either promptly consumed by someone else, whisked away by a freak gust of wind or otherwise removed from my grasp by some insurmountable force or nature or circumstance.  

Of course, being aware of my own inability to leave something edible uneaten does not stop me from performing the rituals of pretending like I couldn’t possibly eat the entire thing.  Portions are sliced down the middle, forks are set face down on lips of plates, “Fair game” offers are made, bowls are pushed a safe distance away, eyes are averted, lids are snapped on tupperware.  But these gestures are merely disingenuous prayers that a freak gust of wind will intervene and prevent me from acting on what I know is not a good idea.

But as God is witness to the desires of my naked soul, as long as there is a whiff of leftovers in the air, I am a ticking self-control time bomb.  Social, hygienic and practical norms are no match for Zeigarnikfrustrationitis.  The Five Second Rule Police have a long standing warrant for my arrest, as would the FDA if they only knew how flagrantly I disregard their expiry dates. Call it nature or nurture or an alien mutation, but somehow I inherited the disposition of someone born into postwar middle America (or prison, or a desert island).  No thing shall go to waste!  Modern abundance and common sense and public decency be damned!  

The difference is, this psychosis doesn't stem from a fear of scarcity -- (there's no real concern of going hungry), but rather fear of excess. There must never be too much of anything. I must do everything in my power to use up everything that is available to me, lest the earth overflow! The same obsession manifests itself in areas other than food. (For instance, foregoing a full night’s sleep for three weeks straight in order to attend every possible yoga class during the 21-day free trial. Or refusing to to buy a new rug when certainly there must be a perfectly good used one somewhere on Craigslist.)  

I always assumed I was a lone and creepy werewolf under the curse of the leftovers moon, but with the naming of Zeigarnikfrustrationitis, I wonder if there might be others out there somewhere. (Which, for the record, doesn't necessarily make it any less creepy.) In case any of you are reading this right now, I’ve written a list of symptoms that will help you determine if you too might be suffering from this same disease:

• You dig overripe bananas out of the trashcan and use them to bake flaxseed crackers for your roommates.  You make yourself sick eating the crackers that are too burned to share and then make yourself sicker eating the ones your roommates didn’t eat after they tried the first batch.
• You have a hard time hearing words being spoken to you by someone who is casually allowing the waiter to remove their half-eaten dinner plate from the table without asking for a to-go box.
• The thought of coming home to leftovers in the fridge triggers a noticeable increase in heart rate.  (In extreme cases, you may be more excited at the prospect of a styrofoam box containing day-old dimsum than you are about the Prospect with whom you ordered it at the restaurant the day before.)
• When considering Mexican leftovers: stale tortillas are repurposed as chips and soggy chips are repurposed as tortillas.
• Mold is a call for minor surgery, not a death sentence.
• Water and a microwave are to a crusty baguette what Jesus was to Lazarus.
• Watching a clean up crew clear banquet tables of untouched horderves causes you more distress than watching footage of the Amazon rainforest in flames.
• You have declined social invites on the night before going out of town because you’ve made a personal commitment to eat all the perishable things in your kitchen before you go.
• You have used the question: “Would you rather throw out an entire pizza or eat a sandwich out of the garbage?” as a litmus test when selecting potential roommates.

If you identify with any of the above, you’re not alone.  Please join my Zeigarnikfrustrationitis support group.  We will have a potluck.  I will bring banana flax crackers.