Herself: Horribly grumpy. Need to totally rewrite that Comic-Con piece. Stomach vastly better by bedtime.
OD Friends: Please keep several of our OD friends in your thoughts: Marion B who is finishing the last of her book and waiting for a prognosis, Dave Dog, who is home again and feeling good, and Thomas. who is playing with his blood draws. Thank you.
Duck: Duck’s Flickr album: easily accessible.
When I found myself growling at several writers workshop friends when they pointed out my reading errors, I knew I was in deep doo doo. Never to these kind graying folks have I admitted I can’t see for beans much less not read what I have written. I can’t. They all deal with far worse stuff than blurred eyesight. Then when asked if I were coming to the poets lunch, I growled again. At Marion B who doesn’t need growls right now.
No, I wasn’t coming to lunch. My IBS is so uncomfortable eating at 1230 instead of 11. And too, normally I would find a polite way of saying I didn’t dare eat at a Mexican restaurant at the start of this diet. I didn’t and let it all hang out. Shame on me. Normally I never wave my misery like a flag in public. I was publicly miserable yesterday.
Obviously I wasn’t OK.
The guilty party was aspartaine. One chemical turned me into a pain poked grumph. The day before I’d had one diet coke….and I enjoyed every sip. Add breakfast non-coffee, and here be agony.
Sugar too. The masses of fiber that I take for my IBS contain an appalling amount of sugar…the sugarless has aspartaine. How can one lose weight while eating sugar in quantity?
After half a cheese omelet, with real, delicious, fattening cheese, a tossed green salad and a Weight Watcher 2 point ice cream bar, a grumpy G escorted me to the drug store. I was prepared to go from pharmacy to pharmacy until I found a pharmacist that understood the side effects of aspartaine on folks with IBS. I won on the first try.
G found a fiber with no sugar, and the pharmacist did the math about how much to take. Now, tho I am not going to the poets lunch today since I already growled my way out of it, I might be able to eat a salad with two OD folks instead.
Then we came home where I snapped at a grumpy G. He’s been imperialistic since Vernal, and I can’t blame his behaviors on aspartaine. We both need a change of venue. Mea Culpa.