@TNP I can't finger type too well from phone, but was more neon yellow, yup. Sadly, instead of it being a long awaited callback from that old oompa-loompa audition or an actual invite to a magical chocolate factory (unless the dirt counts), secretly, my gall bladder has apparently been attempting to construct the death star.
I cannot say if this has anything to do with Trump, but I am pretty sure the measure of bile over the course of the past year going all crazy toxic society-wise wasn't helping! So it came up with the ingenious scheme to cook up the death star in house, and it just kept on like a busy little bee until it realized, "Shit, boss, maybe I shoulda checked to see if there was clearance to get my megaweapon out into the world before I done built it so big." (Picture someone having built, say, a turbojet in their barn, started the thing, and only then stepped back to watch in horror as it gets briefly stuck in the doors while the jets continue to fire, blasting the ever-lovin'-shit out of, presumably, the rickety old farmhouse reserved for every mad farm scientist ever in a feel good action flick and this analogy, which is somewhat unfortunate because the rickety old farmhouse is, essentially, 'the rest of me'.)
I need tell no one, I am now sure, that there is no small amount of medication going on here.
P.S. Please please please DO NOT send me a new kitchen or magic chair or an oven not tainted by the dire hand of the gluten. Do go eat something you really enjoy today and spoil yourself a little, though, because solid food is way off in the future around here.