Back in DC, and the home is a dumpster. My room is in disarray. The kitchen is a cock roach free for all. Goddamn dirty dishes piled up in the sink, encrusted with lentil paste and cheese. Bowls of beans and pots with rubbery noodle remains stuck to the bottom. Two people in the house baking on a daily basis. Trays, pans, mixing bowls caked with vegan pastry sludge; batter everywhere. If you do the dishes when you make the food, you never reach this stage of decay.
But that would be too simple. It would require too much consistency. I avoid small task until they become daunting trials. No showers unless I smell like a damp orangutan. Rather than buy healthful food and consistently cook it, I eat burgers and pizza until my insides are lined with grease and tar. Then I go to the supermarket and buy 10,000 dollars worth of perishable, organic food.
The food rots. The leftovers sit in the fridge and mutate. I have nightmares about what’s happening in those tupperware bins. Still I put off the day of reckoning. When I finally pull that lid off the container, astral demons will rush out and drag my soul into a sadomasochistic netherworld.
Someone turned off the slow cooker with my bone broth. I was cooking it for days to extract the sweet nutritious nectar from the chicken bones.
But all I have now is a tepid pool of orgiastic bacteria. First order of business is getting rid of my failed, mistreated broth and cleaning the rest of the kitchen. Then I need to clean my room and do laundry. These are all easy things to do if you have the habit of doing them regularly. I don’t.
Quarter of a hash muffin. Chewed it up and swallowed it without much thought. Right after breakfast, eggs, bacon tips, and a salad. Looking forward to massive cleaning project and possible work meeting. Walking to get cleaning supplies and the hash muffin kicks in like a gorilla roundhouse to the temple.
It’s that kind of high that compresses your skull and lays anchors on your eyelids.
I had to sit down and stare at the white wall in front of me. I had to lay down under the covers and watch the dusty afternoon light pool into my room.
Still I washed the dishes and threw away my spoiled soups and bacteria broths. I skipped out on the work meeting, but it’s for a supplemental job I’m not keeping anyway. That hash muffin hit me like a sucker punch from sasquatch, but it failed to knock me out.