Bah Humbug
It's Christmas. The season of parties, and food, and drink. And I can't do any of it.
Not that I want to. I don't enjoy normal food, let alone the constant adverts for rich food which make me feel sick, the mere thought of alcohol makes me retch, and anything involving crowded rooms, loud noise, sweaty bodies or smoky air brings me out in a sweat.
Nope. Don't want any of it. But everyone else does, and I feel left out. I want to want it. And I want some of my pleasure centres restored. I want to feel some bloody pleasure, for fuck's sake. In any context. I want to feel something other than sick.
Oh well. I'll get there. Give me a few weeks, and I might even enjoy chocolate again. Oh God, I long for the day I can look at a box of chocolates and salivate again.
___
Not that I want to. I don't enjoy normal food, let alone the constant adverts for rich food which make me feel sick, the mere thought of alcohol makes me retch, and anything involving crowded rooms, loud noise, sweaty bodies or smoky air brings me out in a sweat.
Nope. Don't want any of it. But everyone else does, and I feel left out. I want to want it. And I want some of my pleasure centres restored. I want to feel some bloody pleasure, for fuck's sake. In any context. I want to feel something other than sick.
Oh well. I'll get there. Give me a few weeks, and I might even enjoy chocolate again. Oh God, I long for the day I can look at a box of chocolates and salivate again.
___
Labels: Babies
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