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I ordered a yufka, and got two by mistake. I ate both, feel bloated, horrible, and it made me depressed in an existential kind of way. The sun came out and improved my mood a little, but now it's getting dark and the idea of sitting indoors eating something makes me feel that existential dread again. It's been a funny day.

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~inquiry wrote (thread):

> I ordered a yufka, and got two by mistake. I ate both, feel
> bloated, horrible, and it made me depressed in an existential
> kind of way.

Veddy intedesting, as in I've never heard of it before. What I read has me wondering how it could lead to gastrointestinal distress, as it sounds closer to the tame end of the digestion-challenge scale.

> The sun came out and improved my mood a little, but now
> it's getting dark and the idea of sitting indoors eating
> something makes me feel that existential dread again. It's
> been a funny day.

Now there's a paragraph that, for me, goes well with "Life in a Northern Town" imagery.

In a somewhat similar vein, I'm starting to think my days have become more numbered than the certainty of death and taxes axiom lets on. I mean, I suppose it could be this dreadful teaching job, because I really do experience tons of fear/loathing/travail over it. The fact I persist in it is borderline stupid, because I technically *could* retire (it would be tight due to my wife's inability to be happy without spending in ways that seem unnecessary to me). But I've always had a rather terminal case of work ethic. I can't imagine not working without losing my mind, primarily because I hate making decisions, would vastly rather be told what to do for it all having become so Robert Smith "it's always the same".

But... well, my wife was horrified to hear I was 166 lbs a couple weeks ago (was about 185 lbs when I started the job)... and this morning I blew 163 lbs on the weight scale whistle. No idea what to make of it, as I'm eating to beat a "the band" conference.

It doesn't help that I've considered the medical profession vile most of my life - and oh, how the whole COVID debacle has advanced that feeling within. The only "profession" I consider more vile is journalism <insert image of asshole polishing a statue of lies held together with spit, snot, and rectal drippings>.

Anyway... just finishing up the last of those gyro leftovers mentioned a day or so ago.

Oh! I did have one of those aging cigarettes I mentioned last night! There's been bit of constipation, of late (wife too, so I think the job is affecting her similarly in that region..), and I recalled how a smoke can sometimes, um, "jellify whatever's going on down there"... and I'll be danged if it didn't work like a charm. Grant it, we're talking a cigarette sufficiently old to burn way too quickly for being so dry... the lit tip just plain fell off without so much as a glimmer of a flick with - DAMN! - one decent inhalation left to it.

"Life"....