Waiting too Long to Eat

When you are hypoglycemic, waiting too long to eat is a form of intoxication. Both the experience of reality's gentle recession into that gray tunnel and its vivid happy return as you finally tackle your meal.
Perhaps you are in a meeting, putting in your oar, throwing in your tuppence, all the while in a certain corner of your mind you are perhaps dreaming of a certain tupperware containing a chilled salad -- of course you don't bring your lunch to work, that is too much trouble, but tupperware and tuppence must be thematically connected in your mind and you wrestle with this absurd problem while the conversation before you fades into the background. You take idiotic pleasure in batting away the balloons of hunger while solving impossible puzzles. You remember there is a latin phrase for "one of a kind" or perhaps "in a class of its own" but you cannot recall it. You begin to devise tricks and traps via which you can tease it away from your miserly brain. All the time you are conscious that most of your personality has left your control, and that at any moment you might say or do something absurd, or worse. You remember two incidents which fill you with delicious fear: once in a meeting you heard that a certain manager named Deborah was going to attend a meeting in the third-largest city in Texas and these elements fit into the title of famous pornographic film and despite yourself you uttered that title, were immediately suffused with terror, but nobody had noticed. And further back, in your schoolboy days, when you had missed lunch for some reason and then torn the top from your desk in a blood-sugar blackout and come awake under a ring of laughing faces, your hands held like claws before you.
That all of this madness, this tragedy, this grandeur, could be resolved with a baloney sandwich seems the best joke of all. And so you put that lunch off just a little bit longer...