Donuts and Self-Doubt

I’ve had some fairly odd dreams in my day, but a recent one has been deeply memorable for the strangest of reasons. But before we dive into the dream itself, there’s some backstory that will need to be covered.

I don’t have very strong feelings about donuts. They’re alright, but on those rare occasions when I have some, I’ll inevitably come to regret doing so pretty quickly. Despite all this, I do have a favourite type of donut, but as I said before, they’re not something I ever find myself thinking about unless they’re free and sitting right in front of me.

Now back to the dough of the issue. Throughout this particular dream I found myself not only eating donuts, but enjoying them more than any other food I’ve ever had, and by a considerable margin at that. The passionate intensity of my feelings towards donuts was truly staggering. I couldn’t stop thinking how amazing donuts were in general, but also how this particular type of donut was infinitely better than all other kinds of donuts.

Now you may be thinking to yourself that this little tale is at best mildly amusing, but certainly not worth the memory to which its been written, and you’d be right if that was the end of it (indeed you might still be right regardless). But that’s not the end of it, because the particular type of donut that in my dream might as well have been baked and glazed ambrosia, is not actually the type of donut I like in reality, far from it.

Now I’ve long since realized that “dream Jeff” is on the whole full of shit and not to be taken too seriously. However I find myself unable to shake the creeping feeling that I’m engaging in some self-deception regarding my preference in doughnuts This would be bizarre to say the least. In fact I’d say its bizarre to even be dwelling on the possibility, given its complete irrelevance and triviality, yet here I am.

So yeah, I’ve had donuts on the brain recently.

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A Farewell to Lactose?

My admittedly minimal knowledge of lactose tolerance testing was thrown into sharp relief this afternoon. A number of years ago I had been told that the process consisted of drinking a glass of lactose and then waiting to see if, to put it delicately, you then shat yourself. Now whether this previously was the standard practice or whether whoever told me this was having a laugh, it turns out the current procedure isn’t quite as barbaric.

While you do have to drink a glass of something (presumably a sort of lactose mixture? In hindsight I really should have asked before quaffing it), the actual test involves drawing blood on 4 separate occasions over a 2 hour period. Which is to say if you’re lined up for one, remember to bring a book for the wait, and be prepared to look like a junkie coming off the lash when you leave.

Anyways, fingers crossed I’m not actually lactose intolerant.

A Lesson in Humility

The funniest thing happened while I was out for a run this morning. About midway through Bowness Park I ran past this little kid who was running around on the grass. Now normally this wouldn’t be in any way noteworthy, but soon after I passed him he started running behind me on the path. So there I was having a little chuckle about this fella following me, but his footsteps keep getting closer and closer, and then suddenly blows past me! He pulls ahead maybe 15m or so, and then dials it back to comfortably maintain his lead. This continued for a few minutes, after which he peeled off to return to his parents (presumably), who I then discovered had been watching the entire time and were laughing their asses off.

Nothing like getting showed up by a 7 year old to start off the day.