Sunday and Jello

I haven't succeeded yet in making Sunday less boring when I can't attend. Blake comes and goes to his various meetings in the morning, then takes off for the block at 1:00. I mope around and mope around, trying to be motivated to write a missionary, or read the Ensign or make a meaningful journal entry. Fostering spirituality without the support of friends and family just isn't my strong suit it seems! So I succumb to sleep (probably good for me) and watch a movie. I go through the list of foods that won't taste good, trying to pacify a frying digestive tract. I usually resort to Jello and until last week I didn't even know what it was! Now I can't believe I eat it. I was gripped by a burning desire to know what Jello was actually made of (since I didn't really eat it until chemo) so I did the modern, intelligent thing--I Googled it! Now I'm wondering what elaborate medical regime it will take to help me recover from the effects of having ingested my weight in its awful content. Death by Jello. Good grief. The alternative is too much hot milk, the other thing that appeals to me, which could induce death by lactose (bloating, gas, cramping--you know!) That drops death by Sunday boredom clear back to third place. Ok. Not a good day for writing.