The outside is golden right now.
All I can think about is how fried my brain feels, how nice a quiche would taste, how much work it would be to make a quiche, how lazy I am, what a bad vegan I make, that I need to make something good and filling for my dinner because I'm starving, how uncomfortable it is to have a heavy water balloon pushing outward and ever outward.
My skin is very taut and starting to look slightly shiny from being stretched like hide over a drum. I'm scared to know what it's going to look like in attempts to return to whatever normal will be afterwards. At least nobody ever sees it but me and Mr Baldwin, and there isn't a stretch mark to speak of. Things could be worse.
Spot has been happily lounging out-of-doors for several hours now. It is nice when he's just content and doesn't mew constantly while out there... or run in circles around the pillar until his entire length of leash has been obliterated.
The fascinating thing? I'm not at all wanting anything sweet. I want healthy food. I ate some chocolate chips a little bit ago and just... didn't really care.
Well, if I'm to eat, it's going to be Me who has to do something about it. I don't feel like it, but there it is. And I think fried brains are not culinarily creative brains.
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