Why would chips call my soul at 9:18 in the morning?
No. Breakfast was just an hour ago and satisfying.
Breakfast. No mindless flurry, nor haphazard inattention.
Yet chips are knocking now.
Visions quickly chomped and swallowed like guilty memories. Old times, old friends, old ways.
Sunny this morning. No worries.
I shake myself to let this idea of chips fade. Move on. Move away. Be other then a chip eater at 9:19 in the morning.
A new thought.
If I ate this chip what would it say?
What could a chip say?
Here am I in salty fatty crispness ready to be bitten and crushed before slithering down your familiar gullet coating feelings in blessed unconscious fury and sad expectation.
Cliché that chip.
But do I assume its voice as I assume so much in life?
Is my relationship with chips at 9:20 AM the same as at midnight or at 3:45 PM or at a party where I don’t know what to say?
I decided to listen.
Salt Zing. Puckered tongue. Rage. Angry anxiousness, melt down. Sad.
Biting, biting, biting. Hide.
Stop, don’t swallow. Let it speak.
Sadness. Lonely. Why?
Inner roar and groan and old old wounds come round anew.
Swallow it down. Don’t feel. Cover this.
Grab more, but no.
My life isn’t what I expect. It has colors I didn’t plan. I move against some grain I set for myself. Fear. Loss. Hope.
Change is hard, I don’t want it.
I want something new.
I want something familiar.
Try something sweet.
No ice-cream or candy.
A taste of jam.
One drop on my tongue contrasts with the salty zing of rage with comforting airiness and I move from my gut to my head.
Sweet plays higher in symphony.
Sweet is how I fool myself with dreams when reality isn’t what I hope for.
Sweet takes me to childhood outings and Grandpa giving me blue snow cones at the ball game.
The one person who totally made me feel loved…
Then guilt in my pleasure.
I should not have the cake, the cookie, the ice-cream…
I’ll show you.
More sweetness comes rolling.
Rolling and rolling until I no longer feel it nor my memory of Grandpa.
Rage cries again.
Why not me?
Why am I not enough?
Whoop there it is.