This is the part where I sit in my kitchen at 4:42 on a Saturday afternoon, dressed in my warn-in comfy jeans, cushy man socks, and the NASA t-shirt my sister gave me under my favorite baggy sweatshirt, eating the last of the chocolate coins, waiting for the tea water to boil so I can drink out of the TARDIS mug, intermittently shifting the laundry from washer to dryer to hanger, listening to John and Hank teach me things that no grad school prof ever could or ever would or ever cared to do, now and again rising to tidy or stretch or wash a dish.
This dish.
It is my life, made sweet and sour and bitter and bat-shit-crazy by a great many things.
This dish has made a meal of me.
So delicious,
and so cold.
This dish.
It is my life, made sweet and sour and bitter and bat-shit-crazy by a great many things.
This dish has made a meal of me.
So delicious,
and so cold.
