The Munchies and Me

Today has been a busy--a happily busy--day. This morning, I team-taught Catechism with Debbie. We were with our terrific class from 9:00 to 2:30.

I came home, took a quick nap, wolfed down some food, and then headed back to our church building to get things ready for our 5:30 worship. Although we faced some technical glitches, God was there and all turned out well.

In the midst of all this, I've been struck with a massive case of the "munchies." No, I haven't been doing the wacky weed. (In fact, I'm such a control freak that never in my entire life have I partaken of the weed or any other illegal stuff. This character flaw of mine--my loathing of not being in charge of my faculties--has actually been my friend when it comes to drugs.)

My munchies come from a legal source. After I'd taken the last antibiotic for my "creeping crud" earlier this week, I woke up on Thursday morning with intense sinus pressure. I called my doctor who said, "Listen, we've been messing with this long enough. I'm calling in a prescription for Prednisone for you."

Prednisone, of course, is a steroid. It won't make me buff. But, if past history is any indicator, it will do two things: Literally knock the snot out of me and make me ravenously hungry.

The second thing has definitely happened already. So far today, I've had four pieces of toast, two glasses of Orange Juice, two bananas, two hot dogs, a plate of Cincinnati-style chil (the first time I've eaten it, although I've lived here nearly sixteen years), an Apple Danish, a bowl of Oatmeal, a serving of lasagna, and something like 27-gallons of water.

Right now, it's almost eleven-o'clock at night, my stomach is growling, and I'm about to hit the kitchen for my next meal. All I can say is, "Bon appetit, baby!"

I may not get buff. But I have the feeling that once this latest regimen of treatment is through, I will be bigger.