Brushed Steel It's a humbling moment when you find that your life is like your refrigerator, and that you, you active, hungry agent scouring and devouring each morsel one snack at a time, are in an identical relationship with the large, white cooling device as you are to your life.
Let me explain: Eyes retreated back into my brain, the moments before my face become hazy and dull as the music plays in it's consistent and predictable melodies. Boredom is this place, where all the big markers in my day, in my life, have somehow passed in one trickling blow and with the vision of their back covers, I sit dumbfounded. But not to worry, boredom has it's most lovable cure in the summoning of hunger, a force that can, at any point in life, move me to certain action in order to break the stillness. My legs snap to, placing me, cold hand wrapped firmly on brushed iron, smack in front of the, you guessed it, refrigerator.
Note: this analogy makes no sense if you, the reader, are envisioning me in front of my refrigerator, which at any given time is filled with the exact same contents, all predictable and in their spot, replenished by me and only on a saturdays and only with food and supplies that fit neatly into my diet and budget. That fridge...is boring. There are no choices, only remedies, no decisions to make on the spot, only meals that I thought of days prior, and opening the fridge door there is just the same as ordering off a menu where every item is a dish made up of the same ingredients ( like a cheap Mexican restaurant). So stop thinking about this fridge...it just doesn't work here.
Where was I....oh yes, cold fingers on the iron handle. In a hazy move of swift motion, much like that of a mindless zombie, the door is opened and here I am, faced with an experience that resembles entering the Mervyn's down on Sepulveda where colors, odors, and labels assault my vision as items lay lifeless, knocked over on their shelves and spilling out in front of me. The variety is quiet impressive, although upon further investigation there appears to be only slight variations on some simple categories; condiments of every flavor, semi-solid side dishes that usually included dairy and are almost always expired, and solid stuff that looks decent but serves only as a piece of a meal at best. So here I am, looking at at least fifty things, fifty food-stuffs, fifty options and yet none of them are right. My tummy growls anxiously like a stubborn child ready for his pie, but my arm stays lifeless at my side, not reaching for anything. I start to make combinations in my head but the possibilities, although unappealing on glance, are endless, so vast that I would almost rather starve.
What do I do? I step back, grab the block of cheese, and begin to marvel at how I never buy cheese for myself. Cheese is wonderful as it is hardy, useful, filling, tasty, good on it's own, and even better in camaraderie with some good refried beans, yet I never indulge in the expensive wonder. And here it is, for the taking, totally provided for me, and at no cost except the labor it takes to cut a well sized piece for my enjoyment. So I begin to slice as I dream about all the other foods I could be eating...
That is my life. For those who are dense, or simply don't enjoy food analogies, I will break it down for you: It's all wide open from here. All things formal have passed, all engagements have been wed and I am standing on this precipice of my next "stage" in life. I fumble alot, wondering if I should invent some new schedule, or if I have missed an activity written long ago on the day marked today in my little planner, but I don't even have a planner anymore to look at. The book has closed and I've got no new one. So I try to look ahead, and what I see is EVERYTHING. Every dirty, fun, challenging, fulfilling, depriving option that has spilled out before me like post-party vomit and I cringe at trying to pick it apart. Like a spoiled baby looking at a fridge full of free food, I have nothing to give in exchange, no words for the deep but hardly felt sincerity of all the possibilities available at no cost, and yet I take nothing. I move not an inch, and when I do, I look the other direction and distract myself. I long to be full, to have a place and a new plan and a meal that I want and love in my belly, but I won't even grab the damn ingredients sitting right in front of me. They are too daunting, to big, to absolute. Choosing one means loosing another, and sitting bored, not moving, means choosing neither.

This all sounded a lot better when I was still eating lunch.  ¶ 11:28 AM