Katie has given up sugar, or sweeteners of any kind really, for the next couple of weeks in hopes of detoxing somewhat, and so I have appointed myself Morale Officer for the interim while she goes through her self-created dark night of the soul.
When I come in after working out and meditating, she's lying on the bed, curled around what I can only assume is a hollow spot in the center of her being. "I want bread," she moans when I ask her what she wants for dinner.
"Well, I'm afraid I can't really support that decision," I say gently.
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