SMRT!

I've been trying to think of something controversial to blog about to get ya'll stirred up.

I've got nothing.

So, I decided just to talk about me, because, really, this is my blog, and that's what I do, and ya'll are just a bunch of voyeurs.

A year or so ago, I got really sick. Like Super-Duper-I-Want-To-Die sick. It wasn't like an "achoo!" sick, it was full blown nausea/vomiting/diarrhea/anything-else-that-can-ooze-from-my-body-in-a-gross-way sick.

I passed it off as some sort of bug.

Well, it repeated itself a few months later. I had no idea what triggered it, or if I had just discovered a new form of ebola, that acted more like the flu, and I fully anticipated that this whole thing would end with me in a pile of vomitpoo, with my brain leaking out somewhere and becoming an omelet.

Then, this summer, it happened twice within a two week time period.

Then I had it fig'ered.

I was allergic to jalapenos.

So, I studiously avoided jalapenos.

Then it happened AGAIN.

I had it fig'ered.

It was peppers.

So, I studiously avoided peppers.

Then it happened AGAIN.

What the hay!?

Then a little voice popped up in my head and said, "Hey, I think I remember Missy saying something about how onions made her super sick, blah blah blah..." and then I zoned out because something shiny flashed across the floor, and distracted me.

I eventually called Missy, and confirmed what my brain had said.

I then reflected on those times I got supper sick. Every time I had eaten raw onions. Like, the white kind.

Okay, I said to myself, no more raw white onions.

So, two days ago, I was scrounging around the fridge looking for something to eat, and came across some tuna fish salad. I had thrown some red onion into it because red onions are super delicious, and I can't live without them.

12 hours later, at 4 AM, I woke up and thought I was going to die. And I only ate like 1/4 inch slice of red onion.

Luckily, it passed quickly (no pun intended), and I walked into the bright new world of never-eating-another-raw-onion-of-any-type-whatsoever-for-the-rest-of-my-life. I'm a little worried though, because Missy said she eventually developed the same reaction to broccoli.

Good thing I don't like broccoli.

Which brings me to something else.

I have given up chocolate.

For life.

Why, do you ask?

The caffeine content? The sugar? The fat?

No, not because of any of those reasons.

Because I had an out of body experience the other day, and I watched in horror as my body stood in the pantry and shoveled hand over fist my kids' (chocolate) Halloween candy into my wide, gaping mouth, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. It was sad. And my kids weren't to pleased either.

"Don't eat all the candy!" was Eva's squeaky plea.

"Well, why don't you just limit yourself, and eat a little?" some may ask.

Because when you are an alcoholic you don't just drink a little glass of vodka every once in a while as a treat.

So, I'm off chocolate.

I consoled myself this evening by eating half a pan of rice crispy treats. At one point I stopped using my fingers to eat them, and just used the knife to get it into my mouth faster, since periodically licking the marshmallow off my fingers was slowing me down.

Jeremy sat with his back to me at the computer working on the ward program. He growled in frustration at one point, and I said,

"Are you struggling? Sibilinga? They took sibilinga! Bring back to us...bring back to us..."

Jeremy gave me a, "huh?" and kept working, totally ignoring my Indiana Jones reference.

I think the rice crispies got to me.