I reeeallly like onion.(that was half of my lunch)
I'm trying something new tonight besides adding peas to my basic soup recipe, which (bite...hoo boy too hot still) has turned out just fine. I'm making a scaled down batch of these tomates confites that I was staring at hier รก 3h22 du matin. I love to pour over the pictures and the words of Chocolate and Zucchini which is where I found this recipe. I don't love it quite so much at 3:22 am but...
Here is something slow and not of much excitement, but it's never been said before by me.
I almost always eat three meals a day. Even if one meal is just a slice of bread. It's got to be three times at least. I taught myself to eat three meals a day the last half of my freshman year of high school and I'm still too wary. I have a vivid recollection of my permanent pass to go to Algebra 1 late. My stately walk down to the generalized cafeteria. A s'mores poptart. Classy. But habitual. I had to have habit. Habit, habit, habit, habit, habitual. Ritual. That's it. I couldn't lose a ritual. I don't even aime bien s'mores poptarts. A solitary walk to the empty peer room which was filled with old couches. A saggy wool and polyester couch where I sat on the edge of my seat as I broke off pieces of poptart and took small bites in some sort of pattern. My left was windowed, so sunny cold. The sunny winter cold; I'm glad that's what I remember because so often the winter was just white. White on top, white beneath. Right and behind was the health teacher's classroom connected by a door. Ajar. The door would be ajar and I would hear her teach junior high lessons. That was the snack time. Every day. Ritual.
Algebra 1 was kind enough to allow this. However English had fits about my once weekly absence. I loved/hated the gone-ness. It was ritual. But outside of that and into that office of muted purples and low lights. Calming? Ha! Hateful. Even the venetian blinds where dark muted purple. I could sometimes see through the slantings a nice sunny world outside. Why couldn't we take a walk instead? Why would I tell you why I stopped eating when I can see the foundation painted on your skin and your brows are always knitted up and overly concerned?
Now I'm a little sickish and the appetite is a little abate-ish. But I hold to three meals and I pour in peas for an extra vitamineralwater.
This was probably all the more an entertaining blog before I started outing a few things that had never been said before by me.
Onion-cutter hello'ed today by throwing me a bite size Twix. I didn't catch it but I said hello back. And Movie-quoter showed up today in the sportsy jersey work uniform with a long silver pirate-y necklace.
Is that your bling?
yeah.
Later I bumped into him in the too small grill and apologized asking him not to gang-bang me.
When I'd converted to city hit the street clothes I showed him my long silver necklace.
Check out my bling.
It looks like something Indian.
Oh si, j'ai dit (what convenience espagnol and french rhyme!)
Do you ever feel odd when you're half inside a dessert case cleaning it out? I felt a bit happy I knew what I was doing and a bit awkward in the old and hanging khakis I porte (that's some kind of french verb for wearing clothes. I probably conjugated it wrong. do you think I did that on purpose?)
My gosh I could even go on more!
Because the Great brought up existentialism. Finally. Je l'aime. I would love to say I'm existentialist but I'm a bit mixed up with essence. However I've been fixated, like my fixation with vulnerability, sin, and wrinkly old people. And it parallels! He says they search for something in The Fall of humanity. Their trouble with organized religion, institution, education lies in the essentials and generalizations. How could encompassing sentences be said they asked because how could you know. How could you know something you haven't existed?
I'm looking for the great and grace in your wrinkles, in your misspeaks, in my downs, struggles, in our hypocrisy. I can't find the lines to separate the ills into ills away from high-mindedness. Maybe I'm losing my way but I'm stuck on the lessons of adultresses, the reference to John 3:16 on the bottom of my Forever 21 bag a clothing store my friend described as being "full of cheap clubbing outfits," I'm stuck on the blue collar worker mon cousin who is genius but wants nothing of sophistication, or my boss who only likes to watch sports. I'm stuck on all of these things that have edges that sometimes fit like a puzzle but they keep melding and molding and not fitting and switching. I'm nothing but essentials. But I feel so un-wise because I can't know these ideas that fleet through my brain because I've never lived a day of them. I go in circles chased by my belief in existentialism and organizations and I won't end it. I'm choosing this.
Here is something slow and not of much excitement, but it's never been said before by me.
I almost always eat three meals a day. Even if one meal is just a slice of bread. It's got to be three times at least. I taught myself to eat three meals a day the last half of my freshman year of high school and I'm still too wary. I have a vivid recollection of my permanent pass to go to Algebra 1 late. My stately walk down to the generalized cafeteria. A s'mores poptart. Classy. But habitual. I had to have habit. Habit, habit, habit, habit, habitual. Ritual. That's it. I couldn't lose a ritual. I don't even aime bien s'mores poptarts. A solitary walk to the empty peer room which was filled with old couches. A saggy wool and polyester couch where I sat on the edge of my seat as I broke off pieces of poptart and took small bites in some sort of pattern. My left was windowed, so sunny cold. The sunny winter cold; I'm glad that's what I remember because so often the winter was just white. White on top, white beneath. Right and behind was the health teacher's classroom connected by a door. Ajar. The door would be ajar and I would hear her teach junior high lessons. That was the snack time. Every day. Ritual.
Algebra 1 was kind enough to allow this. However English had fits about my once weekly absence. I loved/hated the gone-ness. It was ritual. But outside of that and into that office of muted purples and low lights. Calming? Ha! Hateful. Even the venetian blinds where dark muted purple. I could sometimes see through the slantings a nice sunny world outside. Why couldn't we take a walk instead? Why would I tell you why I stopped eating when I can see the foundation painted on your skin and your brows are always knitted up and overly concerned?
Now I'm a little sickish and the appetite is a little abate-ish. But I hold to three meals and I pour in peas for an extra vitamineralwater.
This was probably all the more an entertaining blog before I started outing a few things that had never been said before by me.
Onion-cutter hello'ed today by throwing me a bite size Twix. I didn't catch it but I said hello back. And Movie-quoter showed up today in the sportsy jersey work uniform with a long silver pirate-y necklace.
Is that your bling?
yeah.
Later I bumped into him in the too small grill and apologized asking him not to gang-bang me.
When I'd converted to city hit the street clothes I showed him my long silver necklace.
Check out my bling.
It looks like something Indian.
Oh si, j'ai dit (what convenience espagnol and french rhyme!)
Do you ever feel odd when you're half inside a dessert case cleaning it out? I felt a bit happy I knew what I was doing and a bit awkward in the old and hanging khakis I porte (that's some kind of french verb for wearing clothes. I probably conjugated it wrong. do you think I did that on purpose?)
My gosh I could even go on more!
Because the Great brought up existentialism. Finally. Je l'aime. I would love to say I'm existentialist but I'm a bit mixed up with essence. However I've been fixated, like my fixation with vulnerability, sin, and wrinkly old people. And it parallels! He says they search for something in The Fall of humanity. Their trouble with organized religion, institution, education lies in the essentials and generalizations. How could encompassing sentences be said they asked because how could you know. How could you know something you haven't existed?
I'm looking for the great and grace in your wrinkles, in your misspeaks, in my downs, struggles, in our hypocrisy. I can't find the lines to separate the ills into ills away from high-mindedness. Maybe I'm losing my way but I'm stuck on the lessons of adultresses, the reference to John 3:16 on the bottom of my Forever 21 bag a clothing store my friend described as being "full of cheap clubbing outfits," I'm stuck on the blue collar worker mon cousin who is genius but wants nothing of sophistication, or my boss who only likes to watch sports. I'm stuck on all of these things that have edges that sometimes fit like a puzzle but they keep melding and molding and not fitting and switching. I'm nothing but essentials. But I feel so un-wise because I can't know these ideas that fleet through my brain because I've never lived a day of them. I go in circles chased by my belief in existentialism and organizations and I won't end it. I'm choosing this.
No comments:
Post a Comment