Despite the fact that I grew up in Victoria and moved back here two years ago after spending 10 years across the Strait, I still drive like a Vancouver arsehole when it comes right down to it. In Vancouver, everywhere you want to be seems to be 40 minutes away, or 20 in the off hours. I was always striving to reach that 20, thus the arsehole driving. In Victoria, everywhere takes 10 minutes, 20 tops, so driving like an arsehole is a waste of energy, and yet...
I ventured out today after dropping Stella off at daycamp to see if I could will myself to crave something to eat. The nausea's getting so bad that I considered going back go the hardcore meds this morning. Pete's garlic whatever he had yesterday for lunch was creeping across the bed all night and the brief toss of a wipe into the garbage this morning released such a stench of regular garbage smell that I swooned like a belle. It's bad, folks, and I'm not a good sickie for longer than a day or two.
I thought a brief trip to the grocery store might inspire a smell of potato salad, a whiff of pickled egg or the simple sight of a bag of ketchup chips on display to tempt me over the edge of this thing. Instead I was hit with strange smells of the building and nearly lost the three Cheerios I had in my gut all over the basil plants in the doorway. I steeled myself, became a temporary mouth-breather and grabbed some iced tea mix to go - the only thing I can drink these days with blasted water tasting like acid rain.
When I escaped, I hopped into my car like some Top Gear lunatic and had a sudden flash of "sodium! I could have sodium!" A McDonald's hashbrown seemed the likeliest candidate, so I gave in. But it was lukewarm and super Mcgreasy. Was so disappointed that I sped the eight minutes home, cutting off people left and right. Thing is, in Victoria, drivers practically apologize for getting in your way, which makes the arsehole bit much less fun.
Ah well, I tried.
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