I haven’t been away from home twelve hours yet, and already I wish I was home. If I was at home I’d know exactly what to do about my little case of nausea. I’ve got a cabinet full of stuff left over from my cancer-boy days that would do the trick nicely. Instead I’m in a hotel room, 240 miles from the comfort of home… and my leftover supply of compazine.
The knowledge that I’ve done this to myself (a recurring theme in my life) isn’t helping. In my rush to “make good time,” I did lunch and dinner via drive thru. Now I feel as good as that sounds.
My stomach used to laugh in the face of fried foods. When it was in it’s prime I could handle anything the king or the clown could dish out. Now it’s a shadow of it’s former self. I find myself pampering it with reasonable portions, or low-fat foods. Not today though. This afternoon I did lunch with the Burger King. This evening I had dinner under America’s favorite arches. Tonight I’m keeping the trash can handy.
I’d been doing so well lately: eating better, getting more exercise… and now this. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to drive up to the home office for a week of meetings. Sometimes I think I’m no better than a child. Break up my routine and there’s no telling what will happen.
Ah… but tomorrow is another day. Maybe good sense will prevail. Heck, I’ve got a meal allowance, and it’ll cover more than a burger and fries. There’s no excuse not to eat better. I’ve just got to slow down, take a deep breath, and make the time.
ah, the perils of getting old. I woke the other night to hear my husband yakking in the bathroom and when he came out i questioned him on his eating habits for the day (nicely of course). turns out he had fried food for all three meals and his poor 45-year-old gall bladder was complaining.