Have you ever looked around the space you create for yourself and thought, Damn. I am clearly depressed? I had that three days ago. I took a break from buying myself groceries and cooking for myself when I was saving up for Mountain Justice, and didn’t really get back into the habit when I got back. Terrible decision. Tomatoes, onions, peppers, and mushrooms. And don’t forget the garlic. And apparently, the mushrooms I buy have vitamin D in them, which is important for me (le me, am hates milk). So I guess it makes sense that I feel worse when I don’t regularly stuff my face with these things. But when you dump them all into a pot and add a dash of salt, it really sucks all the juices out. I need to experiment with that more. I could cook some whole tomatoes that way; except I prefer canned, because cutting tomatoes is a tremendous fucking pain. I hate doing it myself.
So anyway. Depressed. I need to pick some things up. It really hit me the other day when I broke a dish. It was an old one, a square soup dish that I’d always called a “tureen” in my head, even though I found out a long time ago that that word meant something different. As far as I know, it’s unique. It was definitely the only square dish we’ve had for as long as I can remember. Talking to my mom about it later, she told me that they didn’t make them any more. It was frustrating. Stupid way to break it. Because I don’t buy anything in plastic bottles any more, when I do get soda, it’s this Virgil’s stuff, really good, made with real sugar and natural ingredients. Really fru-fru “health-conscious but I still drink fucking soda like an idiot” kinda stuff. Certainly tastes natural, though. Reading the label, you’d think they use actual spices instead of flavoring. Sugar is a harder habit to break than booze, not least because no one takes you seriously when you say “I am so sick of the goddamn sugar!” I must have had eight of those damn bottles on my desk, so I put the soup dish on the floor. And just being my normal clumsy self, I knocked a bottle off the table, and right onto the dish. If I’d taken it downstairs when I was finished with it. If I’d just thrown away my garbage. If I just weren’t so damn crazy. I need to vacuum there now, because there are slivers of ceramic there on the carpet and in the dirty pair of pants that was under the dish (yup). Euff. Don’t want to. Too fucking lazy.
And it was hard to explain to my dad what had happened. He didn’t know what dish I meant. I had to tell him to check the trashcan for it. It was the same square dish he always had soup in. Never saw it in another dish with him. Maybe he just couldn’t conceive of it ever perishing. It’s still strange to me, even. Handy thing, too. It had a cover and nice handles on the side, so you could carry it right out of the microwave. I’d started using it more, though I’m more flexible than my father is. And the lid for it was in the dish washer the next day, with nothing to cover. Mom said to throw it away, because there was no replacing the dish. I said, “And another part of my childhood is gone.” It was a bullshit throwaway statement. Kind of sarcastic. But it kind of was the way I actually felt.
Just a fucking dish. Stupid thing to care about.
But it reminds me of that show about Buddhism on PBS. They told a story about impermanence. “Consider I have a glass. I love this glass. The way it catches the light is so beautiful. It carries water like any glass should. But I knock it off the table and it breaks. And I say, ‘Of course.'”
(I guess “of course” must be Buddhist for “Fucking piece of shit goddamn it hell!”)
But now we reach the moral of the story. “But then I accept that the glass is impermanent. In a way, when I get the glass, it is already broken, because I know I cannot have it forever. And that makes my time with this glass that much more precious.”
Fucking dishes, man. Like, get a hammer and beat me with it. Fuck the goddamn dishes. Stupid things to care about.
And now I want to go to sleep in the early evening instead of late morning. Who cares about dinner. It will probably involve meat and I have been eating a psychotic amount of meat lately. I mean, it’s fine in moderation, but this. This is completely unnecessary. And it used to make me feel full and sleepy and satisfied, but now I just feel kinda gross about it. Moderation in all things. Except cussing and refusing to do as you’re told. Oh, and this music
I love it so much. It’s not what everyone talks about when you say, “the early days of heavy metal” but it is oh so good. I want every album of theirs. I’ve currently got their first one. Why not go in order?