Guts

[vaneramos]

I stopped at home just long enough to drop off a few groceries from the farm market, change my jeans and pick up the laptop. For the first time in more than a year I came downtown to the E-bar, now officially known again as the Green Room, and set myself up with a drink and a small artful plate of some spicy grilled calamari.

Coming downtwon after work one evening was my homework from the last session with Sarah D. I spent the past hour working on Pilgrim's Cross: contemplating the story, writing, delving into the friendship between Trent and Samantha, and their different experiences of faith. I am delighted with Google Documents.

The bar is playing this amazing band I've never heard before: Beirut. The lead singer reminds me of Rufus Wainwright. The instrumentation is quirkly and rich, like the opera goes to the circus.

Rich I feel. Maybe it's just the Osborne Shiraz, dry and plummy. I am trying to resuscitate my creative life.

Starting on Sunday, I attempted to take a week-long holiday from wheat. The evidence suggests I am gluten-intolerant. At least, now that I've cut wheat out, my gut sure reacts insufferably when I make a mistake. Perhaps I should have discussed this with a doctor, but my g.p. simply pisses me off, and he is in Toronto, so I can't see him without taking a day off work. Anyway, the only treatment is a life-long gluten-free diet. This is a challenge, but not as great as you might expect. For every good thing made with wheat, there are all kinds of delicious things made without it. I don't have to give up cheese, sweets or rare meat. I just have to plan a little more carefully.

So much for the bread machine. Gluten-free bread is kinda different, and the machine does an icky job. I should have thought through that decision more carefully, but wasn't prepared to face the problem two months ago.