What I Ate Tuesday, January 23: Soup and Silence
I woke up today right before my alarm went off. 4:34am. I laid there, in the dark, feeling grateful my body had woken itself up, and also pissed that I was awake. But right when I started to doze off again, the stacked alarms started to go off in quick succession. 4:40am, 4:42am, 4:45am. I climbed out of bed, picked out some clothes in the dark and headed for the bathroom.
I washed my face with freezingmotherfuckingcold water, like I do every day, first thing in the morning. It is my favorite thing. Icing my eyelids and cheekbones while the rest of my body is still warm in pajamas.
I planned for shitty roads, so I left for my workout class with enough time to not be the very last person to arrive. I grabbed a banana on my way out, and ate it in the dark car, with the seat heater on high. Luxurious. I got an iced coffee on my way home, because at that point, I’d been awake for two and a half hours without any caffeine. And because iced coffee sounded amazing, given how insanely warm my heated seat was.
I called Nic to let him know I would leave the car running so that he and Ollie could step out of the house and into the heat. When I stepped up to the front door, Ollie opened it from the inside and walked past me, stopping merely to agree to have a great day. He was a vision; damn near breathtaking. His hair was freshly brushed, balanced on his beautiful head. His long blond locks were partially tucked in his deep blue winter puffy coat and he was dressed in blue from head to toe — navy soccer socks all the way up to his little thighs. It was cold outside but not feeezing. Just cold enough to feel the best kind of alive — which is to be aware. To be aware of where you are and how lucky you are to be there.
**
Nic’s cousin Cody was talking about the state of cereal in this country over Christmas, and Ollie overheard that there was a cereal that was essentially just a fuckton of tiny chocolate chip cookies. He couldn’t wrap his brain around it. Wanted to witness them, know them, eat them. I had remembered and had Cookie Crisp waiting for him this morning.
Turns out, he liked them but he was not wowed. Not by the flavor, anyway. I mean, I think the cuteness of it outweighed any lackluster taste. Our eyes eat before we do, and in my opinion, care more than our tongues. If he doesn’t want them again, or if he eats them a couple days in a row and then his interest wanes, I won’t question it; won’t make him feel bad. I feel lucky to have presented him his first bowl of Cookie Crisp. The state of cereal in this country is worthy of many adjectives — not all of them rooted in approval — but no one can deny that, though unhinged — it is awe-inspiring.
For my second breakfast, I made a sandwich with half a bagel and a fake egg patty with siracha and the thinnest slice of colby jack cheese. (I like eggs but I damn love fake eggs. They’re better, somehow.)
I started work. I was happy to be alone in my house. Actually, I looked up at the sky/ceiling and thanked God for the quiet because the last few weeks the house has felt full (lots of canceled school and everyone-here days) and I’ve been kind of losing my mind so I was happy to be alone, but then I suddenly felt loneliness. I was lonely in the middle of the day, yesterday, too. And it wasn’t for the presence of someone in my home — it was for someone who loved me; accepted me deeply. It was the kind of lonely that just needs to hear someone’s voice on the phone — the voice of someone who I would never question loved me. And I think there’s actually only one person in that role. My mom. I mean — maybe I’d never question Ollie’s love for me really and truly but Ollie says he hates me now — that’s a new [terrible] development. He throws it out there when he doesn’t get two pieces of candy instead of one or doesn’t get a play date when he really wants one. My mom never once said she hated me. She never once said anything even critical of me that I can remember. Do I still have a list of complaints about her? Of course. But she didn’t make me feel unaccepted or unloved. I don’t think there’s anybody I can call ever again whose love I can be that sure of.
Today, I didn’t call anyone. I just sat in silence. I didn’t cry. I just sat with me. Yesterday, though, I caved and called my dad — thinking he could fill her shoes. He made a truly crass joke that even now could make me vomit all foods from the last 24 hours. I’ll call him again, but I won’t call him when I need him to be my mom.
For lunch, I had some Trader Joe’s roasted red pepper and tomato soup. I can tell you that the flavor is fantastic — like dreamworthy. But. Buttt. The soup is just too smooth. It’s smooth like a glass of gelatinous water, or really thin pudding. Honestly, I think soup has to have chunks. Kind of like ice cream. Chunkless soup, and chunkless ice cream — these are substances that leave your teeth absolutly screaming out for something to chew. Your jaw sits there, absolutely flabbergasted at how you haven’t asked it to the party. Eating without jaw movement is just unsatisfactory.
I dropped a little scoop of rice and a little scoop of smoked turkey into my bowl. Optimal amount of chew.
**
This afternoon, I saw an NPR post that asked when the last time the viewer had fun was — and the person asking the camera boldly assumed the viewer may not even remember. I remembered the last time I had fun easily. The last time I had fun was last night.
Last night, before bed, Ollie asked if we could play hot potato and I was like yeah go grab a potato from the kitchen and he was like whaaaaaa?? — his brain exploding because he assumed that we would grab a random object in the house and make it a potato in our minds but I was like uh we have a potato and the name of the game is hot potato and why would we not make that beautiful link between the thing we’re trying to do and the thing we’re doing?
My god. How much pain is there in the gap between the thing we’re trying to do & the thing we’re doing. Every day, every year, all the time.
**
I talked to a friend recently about big things — big life decisions— things that, once done, cannot be undone. She goes back and forth, and then knows — and then unknows. It sounded to me, after listening, that — though she offered a lot of solid reasoning for halting plans she had already put in place — the root of the stoppage was desire to protect herself from the truly unknowable. How does one predict what will happen, after they press start? She reminded me of the Wizard. You know, of Oz. Like her desire to sit behind the curtain and feign control gave her a sense of power. But she has control over very little. Whether to hit start on something new in her life, yes. But after that? Holy shit; once a ball is rolling, it’s rolling. It might change direction and it might vary speed, but until death — there is no stop.
Which is to say that there’s no protection from loving. No protection from loving too much or not being loved enough. No protection from the the intensity of being in love, nor the aftermath without it. No protection from being blinded by joy nor from the bleakness when joy suddenly shifts and things go momentarily dark. There’s no protection from being alive while you’re alive. Unless, of course you shut down and shut everyone out and then you’re not really alive. You might even seem present occasionally — at an event or in your office or walking around your neighborhood. But you won’t really be here. To be here means to risk at all. To risk heartbreak a thousand times a day.
Today was an excellent day, and yet I was sad most of it. I wanted to talk to my mom. I realized relationships with many people have not lived up to what I wanted or needed. I remembered that I hate to have needs, and that I have worked my entire life at whittling my needs down to the lowest ratio only to realize that my needs point out real holes in me that need to be filled, and that acknowledging them is a great way to start honoring them.
Today has been absolutely wonderful and utterly filled with heartbreak. Like every single day. Which is the whole bane of being alive and the whole point — all the shit of it and all the luck of it.
