Unsatisfactory

Inspirational song: Haven't Got Time for the Pain (Carly Simon)

I don't want to think about the implications of the kind of night I am having. Obviously, I ate something that does not agree with me. The only slightly unusual thing I had was a chocolate milkshake. I've already given up all wheat, barley, and oats. If this hints that I may have to give up dairy as well, there may be no point in living. I have never hoped to have picked up a bug as much as I do right now. I know that I didn't, though.

All of my staring at and study of shipping containers has led me to uncover a few potential problems. Primary among them is how narrow the standard width is, and how difficult it would be to make a functional house in those dimensions. Most containers are just over seven and a half feet inside. Once they are framed and insulated, and a drywall skin is in place, you would be hard pressed to squeeze a king size mattress in that space, much less be able to put sheets on one without skinning your knuckles. A seven foot width makes for an awkward layout for a conversation group of chairs also, unless you like putting your knees in someone else's personal space when sitting across from each other. I'm starting to think the idea of a shipping container house needs a whole lot more brainstorming to be feasible. Right now, it isn't making much sense.

My angry belly is demanding all of my attention for the rest of the night. Here, have some cat pictures while I draw my knees up to my chest and curse my genetics. (My mother can't legitimately get offended. She was just the middle man. This predates her.)