fever pot pie

My Diary does not get mad when I ignore it and go have my adventures and get sick and forget to withdraw from a class and then pop up after weeks just to write sticky, ham-fisted thoughts. It knows that I have never been good at keeping up with these sorts of things, and that I actually considered hiatusing (though I would never leave you totally, Diary) due to a mix of stuff involving, but not limited to, a feeling that I was using the Diary just for boys to look at, plus a feeling that I had no feeling for the Diary. It's a tricky deal, but my Diary is committed to working things out, and so am I. But not tonight.

And though I hardly ever care to read other people's entries about being ill or being away from their own Diary, no matter how honest or happenstance ("I've just been so, so super busy") I will further boner this poor showing by adding my own Sicky Tale. Since coming down with a flu-cold-smear, I have been eating wonked food combinations simply because I can't taste anything. This weekend alone, I had chicken chunks and creamy sweet blintzes (real deal, with fancy cheeses) and tea and grilled cheese and chocolates and potatoes and pumpkin pie. All of the above split between two meals. Sated? Never.

fell on 2001-02-26 at 02:53:12

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