A Week of Second Breakfasts -- Grand Junction, CO

This week has passed by in a maddening mixture, a delirious dance of nausea, toothache, burning sinuses, constipation, percocet and yogurt.

It has been the week of second breakfasts.

I wake up at three o'clock every morning, clutching my jaw and moaning in agony (I'm going to milk this one). I turn on the light over my bed and wander into the spacious kitchen, wondering why in god's name I paid for this pain. I open the refrigerator door and peer inside.

Umm... I could have... umm... more yogurt.  Yes. I could have more yogurt. 

Peering into Cathy's fridge has become a diverting pastime of mine, especially during my week of second breakfasts wherein I'm constantly stuffing my face full of something (usually yogurt) so that I can take more pain meds.  Cathy's fridge is bursting with cheese, salami, bacon, fruit, eggs and most other things good and delicious. However, my first breakfast brain is all about that yogurt.

Noosa... how greatly I will miss you in... oof. In four days. OOF. 

I don't want to write much about the last week. My head's been too fuzzy for details, anyway.

In between debilitating bouts of the aforementioned grossness, I charily devoured gluten-free muffins at Bagels (even coffee makes me nauseous. This is the closest I will ever get to understanding morning sickness) while not working on my blog.

I drank tea with my little brother. Although I did not look nearly as suave whilst drinking said tea. I look cosy whilst drinking tea. I get caught up in the warmth and the cuddling and melt into couches and things.

Why are all the men in my life significantly cooler than me? 

I had easy-to-chew dinner parties with friends. Full of rice and french eggs and poached pears. 

I'll miss these ones. These are good ones. As much as I hate to admit it, I can't turn all the good ones into fellow vagabonds and I'm not enough of a ninja to fold them up nicely with my yoga pants and put them in my backpack. *sigh* One day. 

I relaxed into the home full of faces (and giant trees of brussels sprouts) I love so damn much.

I cursed the sprinkling of snow, but thanked my lucky smart wool socks to not be living in Buffalo, New York.

I spent an entire afternoon cooking.

Marvelous things from Slovenia.

And was even able to lay off the percocet long enough to safely enjoy a glass of wine.

Beef braised in red wine. ALL DAY. And then thoroughly dowsed in rum at the end of the day. 

Slovenian Moving Cake -- Prekmurska Gibanica 

Garmugia -- Lucca Style

I had just enough energy to put people upside-down after dinner. Janet's 90-something grandfather was so impressed and alarmed that he asked to shake my hand after the display of acro yoga.

Maybe I AM a ninja. Perhaps I should try folding up the good ones and putting them in my bag between my sleeping bag and new camera. 

This is my last Thanksgiving in the states for the foreseeable future. It's going to be a good one. Given that I'm not still constipated on Thursday and the left side of my mouth becomes more optimistic about the idea turkey, of course.

Wisdom teeth... why? How? This is far too much pain for ONE tooth. 

I'm thrilled to not be going through the face pain and the percocet side-effects in Mexico (or elsewhere), but I feel cheated out of my last two weeks in town. I've had to cancel/postpone so many activities and have only been sort-of present for the activities not canceled. At the same time, I've been so loved on and taken care of that even though constipation, nausea and toothaches aren't the most pleasant of sensations, I'm sort of grateful for them.

Because this crazy love is a pretty fabulous thing.

Although it's making my impending departure lean more towards the bitter and less towards the sweet.