I died. I’m dead. Hi, I’m a very chatty dead person. There will be no cleaning today. There will be lots of coffee and lots of drugs. Oh man. 😕
My parents are trying to save me from the nonsense because no one knows how to torture me like they do. Here’s something I’ve often thought about – do we ever actually ‘grow up’ while our parents are still alive? With me, growing up isn’t an option. I imagine it’ll feel like I’m alone in the world. MC’s parents are much younger than mine so it’s time to start feeding them lots of rice and apple cores. Ya know what I mean? I hope not, because if you do, you’re nuts.
I hid all of my tasty-yummies (frozen meals, fried pickles, 15 pounds of fries, a big tupperware container full of guacamole) in the chest freezer in the garage, then moved 5 giant slabs of cow into the house freezer. I bought a huge load of groceries last night, but managed to keep it real, for the most part. No processed meats, and save for a couple of boxes of cereal and some canned cream-of-whatever soups, no garbage.
I’m reminded of the times I had animal deaths during winter time. Being that I was a rescuer of all types of small critters, I often got animals that were screwed up somehow. Example: a lovebird came into my care that had only one half of his lower beak, so I had to give him hand-feeding formula. He lived a lot longer than anyone expected, but he still had a short (happy) life. Think of it as animal hospice. If one of those freaks of nature happened to die, I’d toss them into the freezer until the ground was no longer frozen so I could give ’em a proper burial. This is one of the many reasons I decided not to become a veterinarian. Animal deaths are worse than human deaths in many ways.
I didn’t eat anything yesterday. I picked an odd day to test my hunger cues. Result; I wasn’t hungry by 7pm when I went grocery shopping, so I waited. I figured if grocery shopping didn’t make me hungry, my appetite is truly dead. She’s dead, Jim. It’s extremely rare that I actually lose my physical appetite. As in, the grumbles and burning in my stomach when I don’t eat. Mental appetite is an entirely different animal. I can convince myself that I’m not hungry, even when I am, to avoid the grief that’s associated with eating. On the flipside, in the fine tradition of my ancestors, I tend to stress eat. I am definitely stressed out, but still no hunger. I expected to work up quite an appetite while attempting to get the house organized, but that didn’t happen either. Balls.
There really isn’t any point to this post other than to tell you when I died, I went to hell. Surprise!