A Real Treat

The robots will be thrilled to have another entry from me to parse.

Earlier this month I was suffering from a case of lactose intolerance, but I'm happy to say that it may have been the 48 hour variety. Or, it may have been an unyet unknown one, in which case, if it kills me, I can have a disease named after me. Since I have to die of something, anyway, I could do worse than be the first person with something. It worked for Lou Gherig.

My lactose intolerance may have mutated into cream soda intolerance, and I haven't heard of anyone having that before.

It's more likely, though less romantic, to think that I wasn't intolerant of anything, which would make me proud. I'm not fond of intolerance, not a big fan of it. I think what may have been happening is that I was going too long between meals and was wolfing my dinners down, or maybe just swallowing too quickly and taking in one part air to one part liquid.

I panicked, of course, when my evenings were filled with burps and other gaseous developments and tummy aches, but I took the extreme measure of diagnosing myself and bought some of those lactaid aid pills. Since I often drink half a gallon of milk a day (sometimes more) and have no desire to stop that, I was happy when I could drink that with impunity. I think that may be a lot of milk for a grown adult to stomach, but you have no idea how good it tastes when it's going down. I just can't stop swallowing, once I get started.

Yes, I have a drinking problem, and this may be an unexplored symptom. I just love swallowing. Repetitively. Over and over.

Now I'm feeling better.