Food. Bah.

Ian sent me a recipe for lobster with braised artichoke hearts in the most amazing sauce. Four pounds of butter and a bottle of port in that sucker. I thought about it for a minute and I realized that I haven't really eaten anything but protein bars and eggs in about a month. I'm sure that there have been other things--I know there was a grilled cheese sandwich in there somewhere--but when I look back, I see protein bars and eggs.

It's no wonder I've lost weight.

So, trying to remedy that situation I went and got a turkey sandwich and a cup of decent coffee. Ate half the sandwich, now my stomach hurts and all I want to do is sleep.

Before this turns into yet another Poor Pitiful Me ramble, I do have a doctor's appointment on Friday, and I will mention my lack of appetite. The doc will take one look at my weight and glare at me. The nutritionist will fret and they'll all make noise about protein powder.

I'll think how that would be just peachy if I felt like eating, which I don't. Try to get me to do something I don't want to do; go ahead, try.

It's not like I'm starving myself, or trying to lose weight; I've just lost most of my interest in food. That's sad, because I've always loved food. I believe that I will love food again, but right now the gulf between reading the lobster recipe and eating a whole meal is more than I can manage.

Here goes nothing.

before - after