I injured my neck in December. Consequently, I lost my ability to move about freely, go anywhere, do much of anything. And I lost my appetite. Ultimate death to a food writer.
The pain has killed what little ambition I have (I’m admittedly the laziest person on God’s green earth), and my enjoyment of food. Now that’s overly dramatic I know, and certainly there are fates much more awful. I’m damn grateful it wasn’t worse. But what’s a girl to do when even the thought of hot crispy bacon or a nice juicy peach give her the willies?