Reflections in the Dragon's Eye: A Journal

20 September 2000

So when my knee started throbbing around noon yesterday, I gave up and called the doctor's office. My doctor wasn't in, so they assigned me to someone I haven't seen before. The nurse weighed me (15 pounds more than I'd been in May, but at least 10 pounds less than at the beginning of August, thankyouverymuch, and yes, my weight always swings that much that fast on a fairly regular basis; I've always envied women who could keep just one size of clothes in their closets), and took my blood pressure (116/80, very nice) and my temperature and pulse (neither of which she bothered to tell me). And then I sat and waited for at least half an hour for the doctor.

Finally, she came in and looked at my knee, and looked at my other knee for reference, and poked and prodded the bump until I was jumping every time she moved. (It didn't hurt much, but I kept waiting for the pain to spike.) She said she thought it was a blood vessel, and that it didn't seem to be in any danger of clotting or anything actually dangerous. She didn't know why it had popped up on my kneecap of all places, but didn't think it was actually anything to worry about. She suggested I put some heat on it (I thought heat was bad for swelling?) and said I could take Advil if it hurt, and sent me around the corner for some x-rays.

I walked into the x-ray place apparently about thirty seconds after the rest of the county. After sitting in the corner and reading the first third of A Christmas Carol (it was the only book I had loaded on my Palm, and all the magazines were things like Parenting Today and Pregnancy Health - the x-ray clinic was also a women's health clinic) they finally called me back. After seeing what new and interesting positions they could contort my body into, they took a couple of films and sent me on my way.

So there we have it. A swollen blood vessel, and nothing to worry about, and they're supposed to call me today and let me know if the x-rays turned up anything I should be aware of. Though they only have my home phone number, so about 9 I'll call and ask.

It's that time of the month. No, wait, guys, come back, not that time of the month, though I wouldn't be surprised if they were related. I'm talking about the time of the month that I can't stop eating.

And this isn't a habit thing, or a boredom thing. It's not a craving - I don't have a yen for anything in particular. It's just that my stomach starts growling the instant I wake up in the morning, and is only sated for about half an hour after I've eaten, and then starts growling again. My hunger pangs were so bad yesterday I was eating the nasty sugar-free candy from my candy dish at work. (I bought it with high hopes, but of course it turned out to be disgusting. Yesterday, my stomach was shouting, "Bring it on!")

I call it my "Hungry Time" - it usually lasts about four days or so. Today I planned ahead and packed some vegetables - a few carrots, a cucumber, and a handful of cherry tomatoes. They'll be gone before 2:00, you'll see.

But on the flip side, I can't stand to eat the chicken we've got in our freezer. We bought it months ago, each piece sealed into its own little package, most of them with some sort of marinade. The pepper in the lemon pepper pieces is a little too much for me, but it's edible if I rinse it off. The plain chicken is fine. The first time I tried the lemon-herb chicken, I thought it was disgusting, so I've only been using it when I could disguise the flavor in a lot of sauce. But I thought the teriyaki-marinated chicken was pretty good.

Until last night. Matt was clever and brave and decided to fix chicken a new way, that he'd seen or read about somewhere. He took two pieces of teriyaki chicken, covered them with chopped onions and carrots, and wrapped them in aluminum foil and baked it until they were done, then served it over rice. By all rights, it should have been wonderful.

But I could barely choke down the chicken. I don't know why, even - I couldn't put my finger on it. The chicken wasn't undercooked, so that wasn't it. It obviously hadn't gone bad, nor had it picked up that strange flavor of being freezer-burnt. The teriyaki marinade tasted fine on the vegetables and the rice, so that wasn't it... Was it a texture thing? I didn't know. All I knew was that I hated every bite of that chicken.

And it wasn't Matt's fault, either. He'd followed the recipe; the onions and carrots were wonderful, the rice was perfect... He thought the whole thing could have used some more seasoning, but I've never been one to complain about bland food.

I wondered for a while if I should think about going vegetarian for a bit. But the thought of a good rare steak is making my mouth water, I'm already looking forward to the Thanksgiving turkey, and it's not like the thought of chicken is making my gorge rise, either. Oh, who knows.

I'm such a neurotic.

Word of the Day: yen - a strong desire or propensity; urge; longing

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