I have a theory that the only subject anyone ever really talks about is food. Even when they are not explicity describing something like the new hot sauce at White Castle, I think someone discussing a scheduling conflict at their part-time job that they are not allowed to have is really talking about cheeseburgers and pickles, not how someone else got scheduled for their regular Friday shift. That bible-thumping priest sounds like she’s railing on the fallacy of human contradictions but in fact she is delivering a recipe for pork roast and stuffed peppers, a recipe passed down in coded form from biblical times.
I’ve long considered food a bit of a nuisance. I think of it as fuel but not any kind of sensual experience. I eat to stay alive. Lately I’ve been trying to get back to a routine. On workdays I eat around 10am. On girlfriend days I don’t know when I will eat, or even if.
At work now, thinking about eating but also thinking about shitting. I waited until getting home yesterday and it was too long. I shit well these days since upping the fiber in my diet, per doctors orders after the colonoscopy.
