I can't eat.

I spent the vast majority of last week holding a convention in my bloodstream for huge numbers of little microscopic assholes. They trashed the rooms, blew out the ventilation system, and totally screwed over the climate control. They're gone now, but the effects linger.

When I'm sick, I don't like to eat. This is largely due to my concern that anything I consume will simply wind up as ammunition in a reverse peristaltic artillery barrage. Also, I keep very little food in the house, being a just-in-time consumer, and when I'm sick I don't like to shop. I enjoy infecting strangers I meet in public, don't get me wrong, but putting on shoes and walking out the door into cold, windy weather loses its appeal quickly when I'm sickly.

So, anyway, I spent a week not eating much. Now that I'm better, I'd like to get back into my normal eating habits, but I can't seem to swing it. Usually, two ham sandwiches and a bowl of chicken noodle soup is a good meal for me. Or two hamburgers with all the fixin's, a pair of Hungry Man TV dinners, an entire pizza, stuff like that. This week, among other things, I've been unable to finish one pimento cheese sammich, and only ate four out of the 20-pack of honey barbequed chicken wings. These are tiny portions. People can't live like this. Even if they can, I don't want to.

I know what's happened. My stomach shrank while I wasn't paying attention, and now I just need to force-feed it until it grows back to a decent size. But I'm wasting a lot of food in the meantime, and when I'm in the moment, I'm finding I don't really want to stuff that last morsel down my gullet. This is unlike me.

Hmm, chicken noodle soup sounds kinda tasty right now, actually. Excuse me.