Murder Attempt by my Shadow?

At this point, it's been about four days since I last wanted to eat anything. Well, that's not quite true. I am willing to be interested by
heavy cream
pickled artichokes
and espresso.

If you combine these, pretending that "artichokes" means "lots of sugar," you get tiramisu, which isn't as well-balanced a meal as you would think. In fact, there's been a lot of nearly passing out in the land of Romie, along with a certain percentage of caffeine-induced dehydration.

Apparently, I am trying to reach some king of trancendental state through pinball and diuretics. This involves no conscious planning on my part; just a total revulsion as regards any food you can smell from more than three inches away. (Also, an attraction to shiny things that move fast, which is no surprise to anyone.) Normally, that would indicate a desire to purge something that's making me ill, but this is more like a dedicated attempt at self-poisoning -- which may explain the partial immunity given to anything green.

Except bell peppers. Bell peppers should be scorched from the surface of the earth, unless someone can figure out how to turn them into coffee.