I do.
I have a problem and it’s pretty much making me insane.
For a week now my mouth tastes like butter.
Yep. Butter.
And everything I eat tastes like it has butter on it.
And everything I drink tastes like it has butter in it.
And God knows how delicious an ice cold glass of butter-water is but SERIOUSLY I’m losing my mind.
I googled it already people so don’t comment telling me that I have a sinus infection or that my immune system is devouring my salivary glands or that there is spinal fluid leaking into my face.
I already know all of that. And I’ll be calling my Rheumatologist for an appointment in about 5 minutes.
Only comment if you know EXACTLY what I’m talking about and EXACTLY what to do about it because I am already anxious and paranoid enough, on account of my post-traumatic-autoimmune-disorder.
So yes. I have a problem.
I have butter-mouth and I have it bad.
I’m inconsolable and self-pitying and mad.
A couple of days ago I was so frustrated I refused to eat, all day and all night.
Which was stupid. Because my mouth still tasted like butter PLUS I was starving.
And the only comfort I have right now is knowing that my neighbors seem to have an even bigger problem than I do…
The Neighbour’s Boozemobile
Boozemobile Close-Up
They’ve clearly been spending a little too much time with these other neighbors up the street…
My boozy neighbours
What kind of people am I living with here? A secret club of hooligans who do nothing but drink 24 hours a day?
I can imagine them skulking out into the darkness of the night, slithering in through each others’ back doors, bottles in hand, twinkle in eyes.
They probably chant and sing and bang on pots and pans all night long; drowning all their pain, stress and misery, without a care in the world.
I guess the real question here isn’t so much “Who has the bigger problem” as it is, “How do I introduce myself to my neighbors and where do I sign up for my membership?”.
Tune in tomorrow for I’m A Giant Crybaby And Other Reasons I Shouldn’t Have To Work…