the things you eat, end up eating you.
oi.
i went to sleep at midnight, which hasn't happened in a while.
i almost slept until six, but woke up prior to from a bathroom
dream. i was driving my dad's old mazda. i drive a lot in my
dreams -"on sleepless roads". it was what time it really was,
which was early
before dawn. and i was on the side of the road, so, you know,
and then i still had to go so i asked what i think was a
passing church youth group if there was a public restroom.
someone said hansen's chicken (which looked like a church's but
instead it was called hansen's, is that a real chicken place?)
but i looked and it was upstairs and it wasn't open yet, but then
i was inside it and it was open and i, you know, but then i still
had to go. i remember thinking it was just BPH, but that's when i
woke up anyway. fun, right? i couldn't get back to sleep after
that. i tried to create the dream again, but lucidly, hoping to
somehow make it back to the car and onto the road and into more
of the dream somewhere. just wouldn't gel. it was a little after
six when i got up and cleaned the kitchen. i'm putting myself to
sleep now writing this, sorry.
i only cleared the countertops,
but the fridge...oh the fridge. let me tell you about the fridge,
and it's irony. g-ma hates throwing food away. hates to throw
away food. came up during the depression, parents did pretty well
through it all, but still, conservative values n' all. so she
can't stand but to keep everything left over. hey, i'm good with
that. that's how i came up too, my mom being her mother's daughter
n' all. what she can't seem to grasp though is the concept of
preservation, or preserving food, especially from the decadent
effects of exposure to oxygen, or just plain old air. it seems
like if we just put the food in a cover of some kind, however
loosely wrapped, then it's okay. and forget about sealing it or
trying to push out any excess air before doing so. i've tried to
explain it to her once or twice, subtle hints. to which she
replies i'm older than you and i'm gonna ignore you because i'm
older than you...and i know better. no, i was paraphrasing. i do
that. i filled up two trashcanfulls of old, stale, moldy, grimy
food that could've been used to keep some humans alive, if only
it hadn't been left to fend for itself against the elements. the
whole ordeal was frustrating, on account of i hadn't made breakfast
yet (i cannot make food in a kitchen unless it is clean) and i
was hungry and, oh look, there goes another ingredient, won't be
using that, nope. but i also found it kinda fun, only not fun so
much as engrossing. i'm way too lazy to be a clean freak, but
whenever i do clean now and then, it feels really good and
in a way, relaxing. more than anything i found myself entertained
by the irony. can't stand to let go of it, but can't seem to
keep it from spoiling after all. i'm not sure, that's ironic,
right? i could be wrong, maybe it's a terrible tragedy.
i went to sleep at midnight, which hasn't happened in a while.
i almost slept until six, but woke up prior to from a bathroom
dream. i was driving my dad's old mazda. i drive a lot in my
dreams -"on sleepless roads". it was what time it really was,
which was early
before dawn. and i was on the side of the road, so, you know,
and then i still had to go so i asked what i think was a
passing church youth group if there was a public restroom.
someone said hansen's chicken (which looked like a church's but
instead it was called hansen's, is that a real chicken place?)
but i looked and it was upstairs and it wasn't open yet, but then
i was inside it and it was open and i, you know, but then i still
had to go. i remember thinking it was just BPH, but that's when i
woke up anyway. fun, right? i couldn't get back to sleep after
that. i tried to create the dream again, but lucidly, hoping to
somehow make it back to the car and onto the road and into more
of the dream somewhere. just wouldn't gel. it was a little after
six when i got up and cleaned the kitchen. i'm putting myself to
sleep now writing this, sorry.
i only cleared the countertops,
but the fridge...oh the fridge. let me tell you about the fridge,
and it's irony. g-ma hates throwing food away. hates to throw
away food. came up during the depression, parents did pretty well
through it all, but still, conservative values n' all. so she
can't stand but to keep everything left over. hey, i'm good with
that. that's how i came up too, my mom being her mother's daughter
n' all. what she can't seem to grasp though is the concept of
preservation, or preserving food, especially from the decadent
effects of exposure to oxygen, or just plain old air. it seems
like if we just put the food in a cover of some kind, however
loosely wrapped, then it's okay. and forget about sealing it or
trying to push out any excess air before doing so. i've tried to
explain it to her once or twice, subtle hints. to which she
replies i'm older than you and i'm gonna ignore you because i'm
older than you...and i know better. no, i was paraphrasing. i do
that. i filled up two trashcanfulls of old, stale, moldy, grimy
food that could've been used to keep some humans alive, if only
it hadn't been left to fend for itself against the elements. the
whole ordeal was frustrating, on account of i hadn't made breakfast
yet (i cannot make food in a kitchen unless it is clean) and i
was hungry and, oh look, there goes another ingredient, won't be
using that, nope. but i also found it kinda fun, only not fun so
much as engrossing. i'm way too lazy to be a clean freak, but
whenever i do clean now and then, it feels really good and
in a way, relaxing. more than anything i found myself entertained
by the irony. can't stand to let go of it, but can't seem to
keep it from spoiling after all. i'm not sure, that's ironic,
right? i could be wrong, maybe it's a terrible tragedy.