I can't express how wrong it felt to buy a loaf of bread, cut two slices off of it, and eat it. The bread was great (fresh sourdough from Whole Foods), and I bought some absurdly delicious and overpriced French butter to make it even more decadent, but ultimately it felt like I was eating poison. Which, to be fair, is probably accurate; I felt sick most of the afternoon, and now my back is itching in what is probably a psychosomatic event but could also be the start of what may, in a few days, turn into hives.
Sooooo, this attempt to decide whether I have celiac disease is probably going to make for a miserable couple of weeks. Combine that with an impending deadline of doom for Thorington, jury duty, the upcoming end of quarter at work, and a host of other to-dos, and I think I'm destined for some unpleasantness. But hopefully I get some answers to my stomach issues, and then it will all be worth it.
But if you want to hear something other than my octogenarianish recounting of my digestive issues, you are in for a disappointment. I will say that I worked from home, then slacked off at five and went with Terry to Nectar, where we were going to read but where we just talked over wine instead. Then we had sushi, which was utterly delicious. And now I am desperate for sleep - goodnight!
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