My stomach is protesting. Loudly.
It's as though I haven't eaten in weeks.
Such a good feeling. There was a time, like several years, when I had a very pathetic appetite. Food didn't excite me. I didn't get all worked up at the thought of going out to eat. I didn't salivate all over the place thinking about my next meal.
Well, times they have changed.
I thoroughly enjoy my breakfast. I wake up and I can't wait to have at it. Every morning I have two pieces of toast, with my mom's strawberry jam (and butter cause it melts in and makes it super moist and delish), along with 15 cups of coffee.
Cause one can't start the day without litres and litres of coffee.
I'm still not sold on lunch. I'm just not that hungry at that point. I'm sure once I return to work I'll be knocking people over to get to food at lunch.
I have yet to return to work. It'll happen soon, I'm sure. I'm just in need of more time to deal with some issues. Every day proves that recovery is a slow process. It's weird though cause I thought it'd be as simple as recovering from an extracted tooth.
I have to remind myself, although others do it enough for me, that being chainsawed open, having your crusties ripped out, new chunkers thrown in and then all sewn/stapled/glued/duct taped back together is pretty serious stuff.
Know what I'm really proud of? I walk 3 kms/day with my furry boys. Every day. Cause I have to. They don't exactly give you a choice. Rain or shine. Tired or not. Lazy or not.
Speaking of exercise...it's time for food.