Musings

I stood at my stove eating sea salted potato chips, the fat kind, and tearing pieces of cold chicken from the bone, one chip at a time in my left hand and one tear of chicken breast with my left hand. I kept eating, just kept eating; thinking "I should stop eating these chips, the salt's not good for me, it makes me blow fish puffy". But I kept eating; crunching loudly, my ears hurt. Within this me swirl, I recognized the sadness wasn't going away. I stopped eating.

There's lots going on within me, around me, and food is my hiding place (except for lima beans, they look like little fetuses). I keep thinking it will all get better--soon. It doesn't get better and I'm not going to be beamed up to the star ship Enterprise (my view of biblical rapture) in the near future. Life doesn't get better when it hurts. Food comes as close to a magic wand and no magic wand poofs the bad out of existence. Ans so I fight the desire to eat and eat and eat some more.