i was eating something, before i started to write. eating and thinking, thinking and eating, then more thinking, while i continuted to eat.
i was thinking i probably didn’t need to be eating. i wasn’t really hungry, it was just, there… and then, it was on the spoon. the tiny, silver, demitasse, spoon, saying hello to my not so tiny, wide open mouth.
the thought occurred to me~perhaps i’d become privileged? over privileged? i gleaned this by witnessing my act of eating, not for hunger, or survival, or maintenance, but something else.
not for pleasure, which i do think rates a special home, or plate, of its own.
it was that something else, i couldn’t put my finger on.
on it went, slow and steady, until the whole chia mash up of a pudding was completely consumed.
i could’ve stopped~when i realized i wasn’t hungry… but there…a distraction; cinnamon, wasn’t it? and a hint of cayenne, for fire. and on it went, and i ate it all.
it’s like that sometimes. more so now that the kids have left, and the bad relationships have all been retired, and there’s no gnashing of teeth over contractors who are lame, and unapologetic. no. no more of that in my universe. just the chia pudding, spiced just so, a tiny spoon dipped, swirling the ingredients of the glass jar, deftly finding a way onto my tongue and into my mouth. still. the thoughts… the constant thought~that i didn’t need to be eating at all. i wasn’t hungry.
there. that’s it. i am hungry. not for chia pudding. hungry for the world to oscillate from the insanity we keep butting into. so much hurt and so much constant pain, on display, each and every day.