It's early, early in the morning on Nov. 1, and somebody in my house is rushing to the commode after gorging on too much junk food.
Not the Old Daughter. Not The Boy. They have the advantage of having a parent around who tells them "no" to the second piece of candy.
Nope, the one chugging indigestion medicine in the pre-dawn hours of Nov. 1 was me. Junk food is not a cure for anxiety and depression, but it sure as hell is a good treatment, at least right until it wakes you up in the middle of the night.
In our next episode, all my teeth fall out and I can't find them because my gut obscures my view of the ground. Stay tuned.
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