To be awake, never mind functioning.
Although I don't know if I consider blogging functioning.
So, today, I'm off home. Thrills. Joy. Oh, extremes of ecstasy.
Oh, pardon... I seem to have dripped sarcasm all over the lappie. Thankfully, it doesn't cause short circuits or get stuck in the keys.
I have never looked less forward to a trip than this one. I don't want to go home.
Now, this is nothing new--I go through this every time I come up here. I love this place, and when I'm here, I know I'm where I belong. Boston may be home, but Nova Scotia is Home.
Doesn't help that I'm grumpy from last night, either. Started out grand--great lazy day yesterday which Vicki actually got to enjoy (I don't know how she does it. I am in awe), a final Frenchy's run with a couple of interesting scores that will go to ebay, I got to prep dinner (fabulous roast chicken and sides), and finally got to see the Russell Crowe Robin Hood. (LOVED IT! Gods, that man is so damn hot--talent, beauty, and fuck me blind, can he sit a horse! They grows 'em pretty down there in the Antipodes... rough, ready and rrrrroowwwww!) Made toddies for Vicki and I, we had a snack, and then... shakes and tremors, followed by hard retching.
Thank you, high fructose corn syrup. *slams head on the desk*
One of the after-effects of the gastric bypass is that I can't do anything heavily sweetened with high fructose corn syrup. Now, I had started avoiding that a while ago--after I kicked the Pepsi habit, I tried to cut it completely out of my diet. Since surgery, I can't go near the shit. A tiny bit won't hurt, but anything that is heavily sweetened with it will make me very, very, VERY ill.
Like last night.
I read labels when I buy things. I have to--I'm allergic to so much shit, I have to be careful. What I didn't know is that in Canada, HFCS is called "glucose-fructose syrup." *slams head on the desk*
I can't abide vomiting. Seriously. It's the worst physical experience on the planet--I find it utterly humiliating to be hunched over a toilet, my entire body spasming, retching, and just wanting to fucking die. I've had people attempt to comfort me in this moment, only to have the door of the bathroom shoved closed--I can't stand for anyone to ever see me like that. It's so utterly undignified.
Last night was so bad, I was crying at the end of it. Wretched feeling.
So I'd like to say to the Corn Refiners Association: Go fuck yourself. HFCS is NOT SAFE for human consumption--it is NOT the same as sugar, you lying fucks. It's garbage, a poison, and has been directly SCIENTIFICALLY linked to the obesity epidemic, and you bastards should be taken out and shot for the commercials you're running on television promoting the shit. I don't get my information about HFCS from my hairdresser--I've gotten it directly from my body. Thank you for ruining my last night with my best friend; instead of hanging on the couch, talking and laughing until 4 a.m., she ended up fussing over me (bless you, Vicki, you are a saint) like a mother hen until I fell asleep (after the tremors stopped from the sugar shock).
And I leave you on that very grumpy note, my darling blurkers. Don't believe me? Just take a troll around Google; you will find a great deal of information on the dangers of consuming HFCS. If you're having weight issues, start reading your labels, and I'm willing to wager that if you cut the crap out, once you're over the withdrawal, you will start seeing a difference. One hundred pounds and dropping later...
Off to pack.
Much love,
Your Empress
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