I want ice cream.
And now that we're here in the post-apocalypse, I know that I have a limited time until the stores close.
No more marijuana fueled trips to the Wal-Mart at 2:00 am to pick up a pint of Ben & Jerry's.
And God, no more diner pancakes at odd hours.
We must now be deliberate with our food.
We must now know in advance what it is we want.
I have always been an idle shopper. I stroll around with my cart, humming along to whatever pop song is playing in the background, picking things up. Putting things down. I never know what I want. I usually get overwhelmed by all the choices and make a panic buy of like a thing of hot pockets and a package of cookies.
I want to eat well, I do.
But there's just so much foresight involved.
Collecting lists of things.
Following directions.
And my roommates are always in the kitchen.
And any time I try to cook in front of anyone, I get so embarrassed. I feel like they are going to point out everything I am doing wrong. I get so nervous about it. It's one of my bigger hangups for some reason.
And my roommate now, well, if I have one complaint about her it would be that she is very judgemental, especially in la cucina.
I think it's partially that she thinks she's giving advice, that I always interpret as criticism. I think it also that she owns most of the kitchenware and doesn't want someone like me fucking it all up.
And I get that.
And I really don't know what the fuck I am doing in the kitchen.
I would truly love to be learning right now, but I seriously get so nervous at the thought of her telling me that I am using the food processor wrong again that my heart starts racing.
I was already nervous around eating and preparing food in front of people. Like majorly. Now it's even worse.
I feel she judges me for my hot pockets and etc., but I know she'd judge me more if she saw me trying to cook.
And now thanks to Time's virus of the year, she is always home. Seemingly always in the kitchen.
The other day, I heard her go into her room and decided to risk making some food. But just as I was starting things up, I heard her door open and the paws of her enthusiastically aggressive puppy against the hardwood floor.
I quickly abandoned my project, getting everything back in the fridge just in time so that it looked like I was just getting some water when she walked in the room.
She is not some hideous beast or anything either. It's not like she ever says anything mean. At most, I'd say she is mildly smug. But she's worked in professional kitchens and has perhaps earned that.
Really though, the problem is with me.
I am just so tense these days.
Uncomfortable anytime I am not in my darkened room.
Unsure of everyone, unwilling to talk to anyone.
Fuck, everything just feels so raw.
It's like my whole nervous system is on fire.
Physically, I feel overstimulated.
Emotionally, oversaturated.
Like I've had too much coffee and have been awake for days.
But that's not true.
I sleep 12 hours a day.
I want to make myself a grilled cheese.
I want ice cream.
I just don't want to have to deal with the real world long enough to get either.
6:07 p.m. - 2020-05-03
Recent entries:
Two Posts in as Many Days? I Must be on a Spree or Something. - 2020-08-03
Too Emotionally Soft for the Apocalypse - 2020-08-01
Finding my own voice in the wilderness - 2020-07-03
Looking Back - 2020-05-11
Pills, Pills, Pills - 2020-05-08
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