Golden oldie

I don't feel like writing but I can't bring myself to get up from my desk and go to bed. I'm exhausted. Crap, my sheets are still in the laundry.... augh!

All is not lost. The sheets are dry and the pillowcases are in the dryer. Hopefully they'll be done by the time I have finished writing this.

I'm hungry so I'm eating a bowl of wheat bran and yoghurt. At the risk of providing you with too much information, I'm wondering if it's possible for wheat bran to go bad? Sometimes I find that it acts as a binding agent more than its supposed helpful properties. For the most part, it has been helpful. Ever since I started eating 3 tablespoons a day, I have had less stomach pain, less nausea and I don't feel as uncomfortably full after I eat. It also seems to mitigate the adverse effects of accidentally eating eggs (to which I have developed an allergy) and lactose (to which I have slowly developed an intolerance). When my GI specialist first told me I was constipated, I thought he was a quack and looked around the room for his medical degrees. Because, you know, I really think that's something I would have noticed! However, the word is apparently misused and the bran has helped so he was right. To an extent. That's probably my fault for not taking it religiously. Some days I can't stomach that much wheat bran and yoghurt and it's hard to find other food vehicles in which to put it. Let me tell you, 3 tablespoons of anything is a lot of food. Except for maybe fondue...

Damn old age. Although, I felt pretty good tonight when a youngun talked to me. He may even have been flirting with me. We were at the James Joyce Irish pub on Bloor Street (stick with me for a Wiggles-related aside) and there were "old" people on the "dance floor" in front of the band. The youngun sitting next to me made a crack about how that's okay when you're 40 and don't care what people think anymore. When I told him that I was closer to 40 than to 20, he did a double take. We swapped driver's licences and he turned out to be a ripe, young 22-year old who just graduated from the finance program at my "University". Since I will never see him again, I can tell you his name was Taylor and he was damn cute for a youngun. Normally I go for the silver fox look but I might have made an exception if he had attempted to number-close.

Anyway, it felt good to tell him that I was 31. I guess if I looked "my age", whatever that means, perhaps I wouldn't feel the same. But I actually think that I do look my age. I certainly dress age-appropriately, even if I don't act it! The bartender actually asked me for ID tonight and it took me a moment to understand what he was saying. Ha.

The Captain W aside: I was nervous to go to this particular pub as he has mentioned it is one of his watering holes. They have Guinness on tap. But I was pretty confident that we arrived well after his bedtime. It was after 10 pm.