I am 100% filled with unpleasantness this ante meridiem. Many things have converged unpleasantly to create the miasma of biliousness that is me. For one, I still have lungs lousy with a form of T.B. found only in gin-swillin' bar floozies in Carson City at the height of the Great Nevada Silver Rush. This makes it sound much more fun than it is in actuality. I unflaggingly support gin-swilling and bar-floozying and I like metals and most especially silver, but I am not all about T.B. or Carson City. Those two things cancel out all the fun of gin and silver floozying. Have you been to Carson City? It's the town all hope abandoned in favour of the chilly climes of Duluth, MN. And if you've been to Duluth, you know all you need to know about Carson City.

So there is my progressive wasting away and general rheum and then there is the fact that I am weary. I am lugubrious with weariness. I don't even know if that's possible, but if it is then I am that. I'm tired of so many things, things such as the general state of world affairs and the fact that my favourite soup has too much sodium in it so I can eat it no longer. Do you know how hard it is to find a good soup? One in a can, I mean. It's not easy.

I'm not really a label reader in that I don't look at the calories, fat, or sodium. I'm not a "salt person" either - I rarely put salt on anything unless it has negative flavour. If something is too salty I can't eat it, so colour me flabberwhomped when I found out my soup had an entire day's worth of sodium in it. And I was eating sometimes two cans a day.

I didn't discover this heartbuster of sodium overload from reading the can label, at first. Because as I stated, I don't read cans. The way I discovered I was eating so much salt I might as well go out to the woods and borrow a salt lick from Bambi and take big bites out of it as one does an apple because I would actually get less salt than I was currently consuming was this: puffiness. Not the good kind found in billowy marshmallows and P.Diddy, the very bad kind found in Genghis Khan. (I don't actually know if Genghis Khan was puffy but you don't either, so let us move on.)

I've never really dealt with puffiness, to me it was a problem for grandparents and pregnant folk. It started with my under-eye area. Every morning it was "So hey, who hit me in the face with the Michelin Man?" and "I swear I went to bed with eyes, where the are they?" I was very unhappy thinking old age had struck early and with much vengeance, but I didn't once think possibly I was consuming too much salt because I never put salt on anything and also I'm an idiot. Hidden salt in soup! Who even knew? Besides everyone else on the planet.

 was not at all amenable to this nascent climb into premature old age and swelling but I didn't know what to do. And then my feet started to get puffy. I refused to believe this was normal for a 19-year-old. Also it was unattractive. And painful. And WTF. Through the magic of Google - teacher, mother, lover haha- I was acquainted with the fact that either my heart, kidneys or both were failing like a dumb kid on test day or I was eating too much damn salt and maybe I should stop snorting the Morton's.

I looked at my soup label (finally! you say) and my heart stopped and I had to give myself that heart-punching revival thing and a couple of EKGs. I stopped eating my soup tout de suite and started drinking a gallon of water right then and there and eventually my eyes reappeared on the landscape of my face and my feet stopped resembling tug boats and people stopped asking me how many grandchildren I had. Give it up already, skeezy Nana Tugboatfoot!

And all was well and good again in my body but what am I supposed to eat now, besides the millions of food items that exist for the eating in this giant world? Huh? I want my soup, hence...bitterness and gall and the overwhelming weariness. I know you think you have it bad with your unemployment and real health scares and heartaches and such, but I can't eat my SOUP.

Okay, I know I'm being ridiculous. I'm not even that upset about the soup. If that's my biggest problem someone should kick me in the breasts right now, right? If it makes you feel better, I just kicked myself in the breasts, which is easy for one as irascible as I am. My legs can do all kinds of Gumby-style things, fueled purely by my angry screeds.

Another thing that is breaking the thin and brittle veneer of my civility is this question: Spaces after periods - one or two? For the love of Batman and country can someone definitively answer this? I was taught it was two spaces after a period. That was in typing class on a computer, not a typewriter. Despite my giant puffy eye bags that belie this, I am not ancient. I learned on a real computer. Two spaces after a period, thank you very much.

But people keep telling me, yelling at me "No, you moron, it's one, one, one space after a period and damnit I hate your swollen visage!" Maybe they don't say it exactly like that, but that's what I hear, due to the puffiness.

I so much want to know the answer to this question but if Eventus Stultorum Magister then I have learned but one thing besides "read the labels of your soup cans" and it is "don't ask people for an answer to a question unless I want to swing in the breeze, mostly."

So...do you think someone here could ask this question on their bl@g and then point me to the right answer when the veritable flood of comments comes rolling in as faithful as the very tides? I don't want to be the last idiot using two spaces after a period but also I don't want to use one space because it's wrong. While you're at it, could someone else ask around if there are low-sodium soups that also don't taste like weak sweat? I know, I've gone too far. I got greedy. I regret this now, I want you to know that.