We're ALL Italian Now.

FYI, I’m living in a nest of Italians and yet, I’m the only one of Italian descent (and just half at that).

How did I come to this conclusion? Well, particularly over the past couple weeks (but, honestly, this has been going on for longer) EVERYONE’S trying to feed me.

Ya know, that’s all lovely and shit BUT there are days when I only get outta bed to pee. Of course, at my age, that’s a LOT and can easily be included as part of my PT regimen. TMI? Suck it and DO notice how YOU feel when you’re at this august age. Do we have an understanding or wut? 

Back to my point — too much, too much food. Given that I’m not up and about much, I ain’t hungry. Nor should I be taking in the same amount of calories as a healthy, active blue whale. It's NOT like I'm wasting away here.   

I’m, of course, now remembering mia madre’s constant efforts to get me to eat more. I was FAR from anorexic but still... And then there was Giovanni’s mother who, when we stopped by for a quick hello on our way to Fiumicino airport, wanted to make us lunch. That woulda been fab but there just wasn’t time. Gio finally got her to understand. She dramatically proclaimed “Sto soffrendo qui” — “I’m suffering here!”

Godzilla Coco

Yeah, Jen, Ten and Oni have started that shit on me. That and the sad smiles and head shakes when I don’t finish my plate.

The guilt, THE GUILT!

My friend Paula, also not Italian, brought over a BIG box of Montillio’s pastries.

I suppose it’s my own fault. I start each day with a breakfast cookie and a cuppa strong Italian roast coffee. I can hear you shrieking, in healthy-eating-habit-horror (and I'm deaf fer fuck's sake!), “A COOKIE? THAT’S NOT BREAKFAST!”

Hey, you do you, I do me. Also Stella D'oro — that brand of breakfast cookie, didn’t exactly spring whole from the head of some marketing exec.    

Coco is, possibly, beginning to get bored with her Watcher duties. She’s all like “we’re in bed AGAIN? The view from the downstairs windows is better — more wildlife and shit. Plus, the old man puts my food out DOWNSTAIRS. Also, that’s where the treats live, you selfish witch. You just don’t care about me anymore!”

Even my cat’s gone Italian. The guilt, THE GUILT I’m feeling!

In non-food, non-guilt news, the new pill, a light steroid, IS having a positive effect. I can walk (OK, hobble) better, my balance is less heinous, I believe I have a scintilla more energy and strength too.

Ten’s all stern and “Don’t get cocky!’ Yeah, I was planning to get back on my elliptical and overdo it right away. Of course I was — why merely do when you can overdo?! For once I listened and am taking it mega slow. Today, I’ll do a little more (wouldn’t take much).

I need to enjoy my slaggitudeness while I can. After all, once I'm in rehab life’s gonna be all work, work, work. Hello boys, how ya doin’?

Maybe, post slice-age, I’ll finally get the vaccine too!

This morning's brill sky