I have just eaten a packet of Monster Munch and am suddenly thinking about the woman with selective eating disorder who eats nothing else, and the six-year-old girl whose mother left her alone in the house for five days with nothing to eat but packets of those. Both survived and survive, though obviously it isn't food. The young girl's case was clearly one of child-neglect, but the other is a grown woman who seems to suffer no major ill-effects. We do not live by bread alone but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of god, so it is written. Perhaps the woman's faith is very strong or she has another source from which to draw the vital forces one needs in order to live. I have a healthy diet with organic vegetables, fruit, meat, whole grains and pulses. But the woman who only eats Monster Munch is stronger and possibly healthier than I am. All she suffers is brittle nails. Some things are just mysterious and one accepts this.
Last night was the first Halloween for many years that we did not put a carved pumpkin on the hedge to show itinerant vampires, ghouls and witches that they could come and knock for sweets. I know this is one of the winter shine-your-light-in-the-darkness festivals, but actually, I should have medals for doing this for, well - much of my life, really. Last night the wick had burned down to almost nothing. It revived a bit after the good words of a friend (we do not live by bread alone), chocolate and prescription drugs - good things all three, and I do not despise them.
And now it is that time of year again and I am back in the frolick and fun that is NaNoWriMo. In my fashion. One year I nearly killed myself with word-count frenzy, another I came down with swine flu and really, a diet of a thousand words a day is respectable enough in my yet-to-be-written book. So I will be embracing the spirit of NaNo without the caffeine overload or sleepless nights which, actually, I already have.
It is also the Daughter's birthday. This, and the fact of her existence, makes me very happy.