Luna’s initial umbrage, a superficial amber, at Logan’s languor groaned into rancor, official and raging red, while she, armed with a dust rag, cleaned the house as he bummed on the couch watching the Rams vs. the Bears.
I’ve been a bit under the weather since Wednesday night. I didn’t want to renege on my weekly post, so here are two, six word stories using today’s daily writing prompts.
Here’s my personal goal for the day using the six word story format:
Must eat more solid food today.
I need to vent. This isn’t some tragic “woe is me” post. Like I keep saying, I’m just trying to be honest about my experiences with chronic illness.
I’ve been limited in my food options for years now kudos to an extremely touchy stomach, but due to my recent ulcerative colitis flare and the medicine I’m taking, my diet is even further reduced. I wanted to write some snarky rhyming poem about the things I can’t eat right now because I miss being able to inhale whatever I want. But that list is as long as Rural Route 1, and the only good rhyme with “no gluten” is “highfalutin’” (I guess I could rhyme it with “tootin’–but that’s the obvious choice when you’ve got tummy issues.).
Here’s a list of what I’m currently, barely, tolerating:
That’s. It. Anything else makes me regret eating it later. Garlic? Forget about it. Onions? You jest. Tomatoes? I’d need an intestine transplant.
More and more, looking at some food or even smelling it makes me gag, and the only thing that I can stomach reheated is rice.
Next week, I have a conference in New Orleans for three days, and I’m more than a little concerned about eating (and functioning afterward) while I’m there. Convention attendees might question my sanity if they find me curled up in a food-induced ball of pain in a conference room corner.
Not eating isn’t an option. I’m still starvin’, Marvin! It’ll be torturous to be in NOLA and not eat charbroiled oysters, a muffelatta, or a Lucky Dog.
I miss real culinary delights. I’d move mountains for a slice of lasagna, a gyro with tzatziki, or my mom’s curry chicken salad.
Food shouldn’t make anyone hurt. It’s a basic need and one of earth’s greatest pleasures. And it’s a damn shame that it can make some people feel like knives reside in their innards.
Thank goodness for daily prompts when you need them.
languid flame flickering
its haunted hollow
turning a pinprick pyre into respite
resisting the open wound onyx night