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.