To live, I must eat. To eat, I must go to the supermarket. To go to the supermarket, I must leave my apartment. Therefore if I do not leave my apartment, I will die. WHY IS THERE NO STEAK IN MY APARTMENT? I'll tell you why. Because after I went to IHOP this morning, I went shopping and I was so stuffed on PANCAKES that the mere thought of putting another bite of food in my mouth, ever again, made me bilious. I honestly could not make myself buy anything other than soda and a loaf of Emergency Wheat Bread. But I can eat no more bread. I've eaten it with peanut butter, I've eaten it with cheese, I've eaten it with a slather of mustard. No. More. Bread. Someone, please, just drag a dead cow onto the front walk of my apartment building and toss some asparagus through my window, okay? Please? To leave my apartment, I would have to put a bra on and everything. It's just too much. I'd have to lift my arms , and then find some shoes , and then climb the stairs , and the car is cold . As you can see, I've emphasized all the horrifying bits so that you can better understand my angst. Moo.