noise cancellation is a grocery store necessity. i am shamelessly more upset to show up and realize i have forgotten my headphones than my reusable bag. if i end up having to ask for paper bags, i can use them as receptacles for my various boxes and aluminums. i cannot as easily justify the assault on my senses courtesy of trader joe’s past 5 pm.
is it extremely twenty-something of me to speak of overstimulation? i told myself for so long that i was fine to endure it – i didn’t need my headphones to survive the most basic human errand. there comes a time in one’s life when need and want diverge like two roads in a yellow wood, only to converge again on the other side of the treeline.
not wielding my airpods in the freezer section is like refusing to take ibuprofen while hungover. what good is suffering when there’s nothing grand or story-worthy to overcome? sorry to the lady i almost ran over with my cart. in my defense, you sort of cut me off by the spaghetti.
i like to think i like eggplant so much because my mom craved it when she was pregnant with me. growing up, i’d watch her peel one, dip slices in beaten egg, coat them in italian breadcrumbs, and fry them in olive oil in a pan. it’s hard to describe the ecstasy of a slice of fried eggplant, salty crust giving way to that buttery flesh within.
the other night, i had a hankering, just like mama used to make. i took two bites and could have cried; it just wasn’t what i remembered. i mean, i wouldn’t drink ginger ale unless i was on a plane. i wouldn’t much want a hot dog in any season but summer. it was silly to think this memory could be molded with any hands but hers. maybe i just made it wrong. i never asked for the recipe.
groceries safely in the fridge, i embarked on a sunset stroll, intending to seal my peace like a wisp of smoke in a bottle. on the way to the park, i passed two cars, two jumper cables between them. two people wrapped in an embrace, eyes closed in reverent silence. the moment felt so private i almost had to look away. i imagined the unfolding of events that could have led to it: a stranger helping a stranger? a friend helping a friend? i love the ambiguity of witnessing something public and unclear. i believe this is how most novelists create fiction out of fact.
i approached the hill by the pond with determined fixation, transforming with a breath into the main character in my book. in this case, my mission: get some sun on my too-pale face. you can climb any mountain when salvation waits for you at the summit. when there are loved ones to avenge. when glory is yours to define.
looking up at the bodies ringed in light on the hilltop, there was no shape to obscure them, no color but cloudless sky. when i reached them, i smiled, a row of faces turned with closed eyes toward the sun. whoever invented the solar panel had a damn good model to work from. it’s just light into energy. we’re such glorified bacteria.
cars passed like rows of bugs, like me always finding home. i saw a video of ants in a death spiral and it made my whole body itch. confused by the aroma of ecstasy or fear, who wouldn’t just go in circles, until we all die, which we will?
not every glitch is explainable, and not every quirk is a glitch. some things dance to silent music, and for every ear, an airpod.
obsession of the week
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this guy, whose vibe is decidedly impossible to describe. this is, for some reason, one of the funniest videos i’ve seen in a long time. i truly cannot tell if it’s satire, and i can’t decide if it would be more or less funny if it was earnest. genius. i love him and his fork obsession.
"i love the ambiguity of witnessing something public and unclear. i believe this is how most novelists create fiction out of fact."
this is so beautifully worded and the paragraph it's in is so sweet. the beauty of strangers interacting and not knowing anything about it is heartwarming.
Hola , Esas Berenjenas Tienen Que Estar Deliciosas , A Mí Me Gustan También Con Un Poco De Miel De Flor De Naranjo. Un Saludo.