Dairy Cravings, 8:00 p.m. Hootenanny, Poem Puttering

Over the last week or so, I have had a near-overwhelming craving for mac and cheese, mozzarella cheese sticks and ice cream. I “gave up” dairy some time ago, although it wasn’t much of a stretch. I think milk is disgusting and I haven’t drank it in well over twenty years, and while I love gourmet cheese, it wasn’t that hard to phase it out of my diet. When Mr. Typist stopped eating dairy, I just sort of defaulted to that, too, since it wasn’t a huge part of my dietary intake to begin with. It’s not a food allergy thing, it’s just a “my body seems to be generally better off without it” thing. But for some reason, lately I cannot stop thinking about all manner of cheese, ice cream (I actually had quite a vivid dream about ice cream this week), and these amazingly delicious grilled-cheese sandwiches that Mr. Typist used to make. He had a knack for them, and they were soooo good, with golden, buttered toast and thick slabs of hot melted cheddar.

I’m not one of those earth-goddess types who believe that the body is inherently wise and will “tell you” what it needs. I’m highly suspicious of my body and I always have been. I think my body is a sneaky, lying bitch who would get me up to four hundred and fifty pounds and drown me in Ruffles and French onion dip if I let it have its way. But with all of the stress, I find it hard to eat. My hair is brittle and falling out and my hands and feet are cold all of the time, and I have to think maybe there is something to this. The problem is that I don’t know if this craving stems from a genuine need for some nutrient I am lacking, or if its just a nostalgia thing where I want comfort food to soothe the stress. I’m generally more of a stress-not eater than a stress eater, but since I don’t know what to attribute this craving to, I’m reluctant to act on it. Getting a nutrition panel is not a thing that will happen any time soon, so for now I just gaze longingly at the boxes of frozen mac and cheese in the vending machine at work, pondering what creamy delights would await me if I gave in.

Every night for the past three weeks or so at precisely 8:00 p.m., there is some sort of screeching hootenanny that goes on outside. A whoopin’ and a-hollerin’ that lasts for up to a full minute sometimes. I do not approve and I dread it. The only plus is that it acts as a sort of default cuckoo-clock to tell me what time it is. I wince through the whole thing and harbor dark thoughts towards the participants. Yesterday, Mr. Typist was looking at something online and found that it was an effort to “support healthcare workers.” That made me feel doubly guilty. One, that I have been ungrateful for these innocent, well-intentioned supporters of local healthcare workers and two, that I am not really a health care worker per se. I work in a hospital, but I don’t do direct patient care. I am more on the healthcare-accessory end of things; the volunteer labor supply piece to be specific and now, the emergency non-clinical labor pool. It is its own art, but I’m not up on the units putting in IV’s and hooking patients up to vents—thank god for everyone. So now I guess I have to be happy about the nightly hootenanny. Yay?

On that note, things are okay at the hospital. One campus in the system is very full right now with COVID patients, but my hospital remains quite steady in patient load. Public service announcement: It was brought to my attention this week that there is a “Film Your Hospital” hashtag going around on Twitter and the socials, encouraging people to show up at hospitals with cameras and film to prove that COVID is a hoax because the corridors and parking lots are empty. I know none of my readers are dumb enough to do that, but just to rant: The hospitals are empty because we are not accepting patients for non-essential services. There are no elective surgeries, no imaging, no mammograms, no wellness check-ups, nothing. If you are not near-death or actively in labor, you are not coming in. And you will be screened before entering. Your temperature will be taken at the door, you will be compelled to put on a mask, and the purpose of your visit will be ascertained. If you have no medical reason for being there, you will be escorted out, by security if necessary. So just don’t do it. We are on edge and we are not tolerating shenanigans.

I am still, albeit sporadically, working on poems from the new series. Having become good friends with many a YouTube fitness bunny, I am currently working on a poem about the magical power of the ponytail. We’ll see where it goes. I’m frustrated with the slowness of my output lately, but since the world is closed anyway, I guess there’s no hurry.

I couldn’t find any tolerable cheese music videos, (but I did discover that cheese is a favorite subject of the mukbang genre, ugh.) So instead here’s this. It’s not a casual music experience. You'll need to set aside some time. It’s controversial and it’s a challenge. It’s long and it’s lyrically thick and it requires patience, but the payoff is worth it in my opinion. Let me know what you think.

--Kristen McHenry