Sarcasm is an adjusted stress reaction.

I went to the doctor about mah belleh. She agreed that it was very likely lactose intolerance, but I'm also being tested for coeliac and other allergies, and vitamin deficiencies, and some other stuff.

In the meantime, she prescribed an OUTRAGEOUSLY EXPENSIVE prescription antacid ($35!!!), so it was nice knowing my budget while it lasted (also expensive - cleaners for the old flat).

"This stuff is great," said the pharmacist as I handed over an absurd and unreasonable sum. "There are no side effects."

Later, I opened the packet and read the little information booklet inside. "Possible side effects include nausea, headache, tiredness, etc." So, nothing I'd actually notice as being out of the ordinary.

Later, on an increasingly desperate search for a vegan veggie roast to serve guests tonight, I discovered vegan cat food. Which is possibly the single worst thing I've seen all day, since a good percentage of it had been manufactured in a laboratory, and it seems rather unfair to take an animal with no choice in the matter, and force it to eat unnatural food. I did google around when I got home, in case my initial reaction was merely the result of prejudice, but everything I found was either vegan petfood sites, or forum posts that basically went, "I fed my cat on a vegan diet, but it got sick, so now we're back on meat until it recovers enough for further experimentation."

Granted, Harvey likes to dine on human flesh, so attempting to introduce him to veganism would essentially be a suicide attempt on our parts, and possibly my self-preservation instinct is what drives my instinctual revulsion. But, um, no.

In the small hours of this morning, my stomach gave an extra-large growl and woke me up. I was HUUUUUUUUUUUNGRY! So very HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNGRY that even my spine felt hollow!

Madness! I had eaten a delicious giant bowl of beef stroganoff yesterday night, and that was preceeded by normal-type lunches and breakfasts and snacks. Of course, the same thing happened yesterday morning, which is how I came to be eating breakfast at 6:15am. A 4am breakfast didn't seem like such a good idea on a workday, so I buried myself under my blankets and tried to go back to sleep.

This ... did not happen right away. In my food-deprived state, my brain was seized by a plot bunny of particularly dubious origins, being inspired by a summary I had misread whilst trawling the Babyon 5 section of FF.net last night. (I had misread the summary and thought, "That sounds ace! I wish I'd had that idea!" Then I read the actual fic, or at least the first few paragraphs, and realised that I'd totally failed at comprehending the actual meaning of the summary, and also, full stops are not an optional extra in most English prose. Which was disappointing, but at least, my 4am brain pointed out, that meant the initial idea was mine to take.)

Finally I got back to sleep, and dreamed of my plot bunny, and then it followed me around at work. It has turned out to be the most insistent idea I've had in ages, with the result that I started handwriting the fic in my lunch break. So far, it contains 235 words that only suck a little, which is a promising start. I have this odd feeling that I'm going to have to take another look at "The Deconstruction of Falling Stars" to get the timeline straight, so don't let ignorant pro-authors anyone tell you that fic writers don't suffer for their art.

Now I am HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNGRY again. WTF is wrong with me? I'm eating the same as I always do. Maybe it's the onset of winter? Maybe it's a psychological trick caused by the bit where I glanced in a mirror on Saturday and thought I'd lost weight? (Upon further reflection -- GEDDIT? -- I don't think I have; I think I've just gotten used to my appearance, and stopped expecting to see a skinny girl in my place. Which is good, because a satisfactory body image is a hell of a lot easier than flailing around trying to lose weight, not that I've ever gone as far as actual flailing, because I'm lazy.)

So yesterday I developed this hilarious problem where my left foot didn't work. This escalated through the day (I would like to take a moment here to casually mention how I didn't go home sick, but worked the full shift) and when I got home, the whole front of my foot was red and swollen.

So I called in sick for today, and hobbled off to the doctor. Where, by the way, they have rudimentary free wireless, and I got to see enough of my flist to note that transphobia is apparently acceptable if you don't like the person in question, so way to go with the rampant bigotry, fandom.

The doctor took a look at my foot, and said that if not for my medical history, he'd suspect gout. He agreed that it was probably an arthritic flare up, but he wanted to be sure it wasn't a stress fracture, so he sent me off for x-rays.

Naturally, once I got the 'rays, I opened the envelope up to get a look at the letter inside. And in very plain English, it said I have a cyst in the distal end of the first metatarsal. Okay, that's not the plainest English ever, but if I recall my ninth grade health class (and believe me, I did try to forget it), it means there's a cyst in the front of the big toe.

Now I'm at the library, using their free wireless to figure out what that means, and if I'll be good to work by Thursday. Good times. Good, hobbling times.

We have this new book at work, How To Feed Your Family For $75 A Week.  It's a reprint of a title from about 1993, How To Feed Your Family For $30 A Week -- something about Labor governments seems to inspire that sort of thing, I guess.  It's full of useful tips like reducing the fat content of your milk by adding water, and using the same tea bag three times. 

The best bit, though, is the opening chapter, which claims that "so-called 'progressive' social legislation is driving up food prices".  Yes, guys, gay marriage is the reason your groceries cost so much.  And multiculturalism, too.  Good stuff.