I've lived in the state I now reside since I moved here - for a handful of years (clear enough?). I never really cared about handing out candy to the children of people I don't know. But we've recently moved into apartments with nice people above and beside us. I don't actually know them, but what I've observed of them from my hermit-like existence indicates niceness. So I bought a bag of candy, just in case their kids came by, so I wouldn't have to hand them wads of disappointment. As it turned out, no one came by.
For Halloween my husband put on my Facebook account (he doesn't have one of his own) for one status update. It was actually kind of a dual costume, because I was wearing his words. I was him, he was me. Oh, how deliciously quirky we are! When I gave him his assignment, I said to make sure that nothing he said sounded anything like something I would ever say ... and he succeeded in a manner that led me to believe that he'd consulted with students at MIT who helped him come up with some sort of mathematical formula that served as a framework for the status update. It was something special. He used the word "Boosh!" That must have taken at least a half page of math right there.
In other news no one really cares about:
Topamax side effects. (Imagine this said in a booming voice with an echo. I know I did.)
I'm not smelling much phantom cigarette smoke anymore, but my husband is thoroughly convinced it never was in my imagination in the first place. Like Bunny Walker, he thinks I just have superhuman sense of smell. I love him, but if that were true, there is no way
he would be the only one complaining about the smell of his feet. I'm just saying.
My husband has resigned himself to the fact that I'm going to have trouble remembering the names for things we all talk about every day. He's learned to fill in the blanks when I have to go the long way around the word: "it's the stuff
around the middle of the bread", or he just takes a guess when I pause for too long and start banging on my head with my fist. Our life has become like a game show that sometimes ends up like Mad Libs. Jealous?
Which brings us to the most recent development in side effects - appetite changes. You know how there are degrees of hunger ranging from "dainty snack" to "goodly feast" or "I could eat" to "bring me Arby's or I'll eat
you" and everything in-between? My first clue that my appetite was changing was when these nuances disappeared and were replaced by a strict Boolean property* situation. There are only two possible answers to the question 'Hungry?': true or false. I either had no interest in food, or there were demons in the depths of my gut demanding to be fed - and there was no leading up to it. One minute I was not hungry, the next I was crippled by hunger and chewing on my sleeve until I could reach food.
Now that has been overshadowed by a complete lack of interest in food at all, usually until the very end of the day, where I can muster up enough interest for dinner. I still have demons rattling around in my depths, but it feels as though the only options I have to feed them are bowls of white rice or matzo farfel & milk, and I just can't be bothered to chew those things. Trust me, I don't actually have matzo farfel in my house, and what I do have is way better - it's just that when you have no appetite, even a package of fudge stripe cookies will make you sigh.
That's right, I have a package of fudge stripe cookies in my house that survived from Saturday through Tuesday. It's
unprecedented.
Don't worry, it'll probably go away and I'll eat all my fudge stripe cookies and then show up at your door to see what kind of cookie situation you've got going on at your house.
*Unless you're brainy and mathy, or familiar with Sims 2 cheats, you will have to use Google.
