I was going to write something vaguely festive, but I'm feeling a little Christmassed out, so instead I used one of the writing exercises suggested this month (well, last month now) and went to http://www.wefeelfine.org/
The title was about the third quote to come up.
I feel food about all of it so far…(357 words)
When he left I was burnt toast. Scalded, smoking, scraped raw, then dumped in the bin with the used teabags. Damp. Squashy. Rubbish. Nothing but crumbs and seepings.
In self-defence, or sheer retreat, I turned into a bag of ice. Chunks of nothing, kept in the back of the freezer, unable to thaw out, waiting for the special occasion when I would be able to be something again, waiting for someone to throw a party and fling me back into life.
Eventually I stopped waiting for the party and threw myself into the drink. It thawed me out, a little, but it wasn’t champagne, it was shampagne, a false celebration, empty bubbles. And afterwards, dregs, urine-yellow in the morning light.
I started trying to go out again, but I was unleavened bread, flat, saltless, I bored even myself. I added a little salt, and became olives. Sharper, a little more interesting, but too bitter for many. Not to everyone’s taste.
Not to mine, it turned out. Cynicism ceases to be interesting once it’s become a habit; at that point it’s just spreading the misery. I added some cheese, mellowed out a little. Amazing what stupid music can do for your emotional state. When I found myself dancing around the living room perfectly sober but for the endorphins, I realised perhaps I was on the way to recovery.
Then I got a little sugar. Oh, boy, does a girl benefit from some sugar. That rush, that sense of self indulgence. But after the first bites there was nothing under it, it was candyfloss, and so was I; all colour and surface, no substance.
Going, perhaps too far the other way, I became potatoes; solid, earthy, substantial. Nourishing but plain.
But I kept moving. I became crisp at times, a little bit tart; a Granny Smith. Goes surprisingly well with cheese, I found. Threw in a few olives. Bread; but leavened, and pleasant enough when there’s something with it. Now and again a little sugar, now and again a little champagne. Life’s about balance, and it helps if you remember to rescue your own toast before it gets burned.
RSS Feed