Useful Soup for Benevolent Purposes

White wine bottle in an ice bucket, macro close up with copy space

No more Donald Trump “news.”  Which, I think, for a time, means no Twitter and no Facebook.  I have read my fill of it today and I am having the Sunday, post-prandial self-assessment blues informed, no doubt, by an overdose of hormones and random, random meal-taking.

I can feel my blood pressure shoot up every time I press reload.  There has to be more peace in the world than this.  Besides, there’s still so many days and so many horrors yet to come.

This is my day off.  I can spend it how I like (mostly, there are things I’d prefer to do that I have no say in doing, it seems), but I am not a complete pile of mush.  I have gotten up, I have helped to pay my sister, and most importantly, gone over to see my mother.  And watch the Rockies lose to the Mets with my dad, but, mostly, to see Mom.  Our task was to work on the big jigsaw puzzle laid out on the dining room table.

We (my mother and sister and I) sat at that table working on the puzzle of a halcyon and idyllic scene –  a gazebo overlooking a pond with a weeping willow in the background and lots of swans and lion-shaped topiary.  Joy was flooding me, like jump out of your skin, unrelenting joy and gratitude.  Memories of times we’d done such puzzles, of earnest regard for my mother and all she might be facing were running through my head like a buzzsaw, inescapable.  It was a quiet moment, and I could hardly handle it.  Not from caffeine, not from low sugar, just from awareness of how I truly felt.  I haven’t let myself go there in a long, long time.


Now I am contemplating my desire not to contemplate, not to plan, the trouble it leads me to. How that’s a shitty place to be. How I trumpet that this is another day where I can’t handle being poured into a mold of corrective behaviors or penitent thoughts and the result just gets worse and worse.  Instead, I feel the desire to do low carb or low calorie or tracking or something rather than airporting.

This is a term I’ve sort of recently invented to describe how I eat lately.  How I act in general.  When you’re in an airport, everything you buy or do feels justified.  You’re on a journey, you’re confined, you’re in waiting for signs from the universe.  You are outside of your actual life, or so it seems.  If you need to buy a 10 dollar bagel and find your stomach sick halfway through and you have to toss it out because you can’t carry about a chicken salad bagel for the next four hours, that’s fine.  You make the choice very easily.  Acting out of desire by making choices that have an expensive, short-term gain that means nothing to you in the long run is airporting.  If you need to buy a $20 airplane pillow because you will want to close your eyes on the plane, even if you know you never let yourself relax that much in the company of strangers 30,000 feet in the air, then, okay.  You’re in an airport, you’re a cliche, you’re surviving this odd little hiccup in the diurnal experience of your existence.  It’s special and special behavior is justified.

Personal truth I have yet to believe for myself, but believe is true nonetheless: Life is never separated from itself.  There are no days outside of days.  There may be superpositions – days on top of days – but time passes.  Time carries on.  And the things we do today are linked to the miseries and joys of tomorrow.  If every day is accorded a special dispensation, eventually, nothing is special but the escape from special treats.  I am reaching that point, swinging back around to surfeit.



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