Double For Nothing (On Late Nights And Mysterious Flavors)
We are so sensitive, all of us.
There are the days, sure, hitting the road and swinging by to the 7-11, where you can polish off a polish dog with great relish, and you slather it with chili and their fake-ass cheese, and it hits the bottom of the stomach like a non-kosher boulder. Those days, the world is our oyster, or at least our oyster shooter.
But I know two guys who work in a coffee shop and can't drink the stuff, anymore, and then I know one who's still steaming fully ahead on his multiple mate' and espresso shots, drinking at least enough to cover the other two guys' missing rations. I have a roommate who had terrible terrible migraines until she stopped eating just about everything except raw vegetables, and then I think they came back when she brought grains and gluten back into the picture. A lady I talked to today said that she read that figs could set you off. Raisins, too. That's why she was buying the book. To learn the secret trigger foods.
Me? It's 4:30 in the morning and I woke up and my arms couldn't lay still, no matter how I draped or twined them, they buzzed quietly over the sheets and skin until I untangled myself reluctantly and apologetically from the bed, and then I sulked downstairs and finished off a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and the newest new Sherman Alexie book, and I let my eyes well up a little because that's how Mr. Alexie has always hit me since I started driving through Indian reservations on road trips. Still shifty after that, although still wanting to fall back into bed, I went and took a shower that was specially formulated to be hot enough so that the water was sharp enough on my skin as to drown out my arms. Then I drank some water, sorta counterbalancing that. And whenever I have nights like this, lucky for me not that often, if I do my private self-investigating it becomes real clear that the reason is because I introduced or re-introduced something into my diet in an incorrect manner. I ingested it too late, or after such a period of time that the previously calculated affects no longer apply. So sensitive.
But I still pick up the gutbombs from the 7-11, some days. If I feel like it.
There are the days, sure, hitting the road and swinging by to the 7-11, where you can polish off a polish dog with great relish, and you slather it with chili and their fake-ass cheese, and it hits the bottom of the stomach like a non-kosher boulder. Those days, the world is our oyster, or at least our oyster shooter.
But I know two guys who work in a coffee shop and can't drink the stuff, anymore, and then I know one who's still steaming fully ahead on his multiple mate' and espresso shots, drinking at least enough to cover the other two guys' missing rations. I have a roommate who had terrible terrible migraines until she stopped eating just about everything except raw vegetables, and then I think they came back when she brought grains and gluten back into the picture. A lady I talked to today said that she read that figs could set you off. Raisins, too. That's why she was buying the book. To learn the secret trigger foods.
Me? It's 4:30 in the morning and I woke up and my arms couldn't lay still, no matter how I draped or twined them, they buzzed quietly over the sheets and skin until I untangled myself reluctantly and apologetically from the bed, and then I sulked downstairs and finished off a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and the newest new Sherman Alexie book, and I let my eyes well up a little because that's how Mr. Alexie has always hit me since I started driving through Indian reservations on road trips. Still shifty after that, although still wanting to fall back into bed, I went and took a shower that was specially formulated to be hot enough so that the water was sharp enough on my skin as to drown out my arms. Then I drank some water, sorta counterbalancing that. And whenever I have nights like this, lucky for me not that often, if I do my private self-investigating it becomes real clear that the reason is because I introduced or re-introduced something into my diet in an incorrect manner. I ingested it too late, or after such a period of time that the previously calculated affects no longer apply. So sensitive.
But I still pick up the gutbombs from the 7-11, some days. If I feel like it.