Title of my autobiography: “But why?”

When I finally write this autobiography, people will invariably ask, “But why?” And I’d be like, “Exactly.”

So, when a friend confessed that soup was one of his favourite things, I wanted to ask, “But why?” My friend isn’t a senior citizen, nor are his teeth plastic like mine. What kind of Millennial chooses soup as their favourite food?

My favourite food used to be sushi, but since visiting Japan in 2014, I’ve been disgusted by the quality of most of the sushi found here: the rice is often poorly prepared, and restaurants tend to go overboard with the specialty rolls. 2016’s trip to Mexico, thankfully, did not ruin burritos for me, so as long as I’m not in Japan, vegetarian burritos are my ichiban (that’s Japanese for number one).

Now that I’ve got an acrylic sheath over my front teeth, preventing me from biting into food, burritos are no-go. My soup enthusiast friend saw this as the opportunity to defend his favourite meal and loaned me a cookbook containing 65 soup recipes. Along with this book, I also lugged a 10kg tome of assorted recipes to be served on a plate home.

I was ready to give one of the soup recipes a try until I came across this on Reddit. It’s a rice bear sleeping in a beautiful garden of broth:

Rice balled together and arranged inside a bowl to resemble a sleeping bear relaxing in a bowl of broth. The carrots have been cut to resemble cherry blossoms.
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Writing about writing.

Grieving is draining. I’ve been trying assorted distractions, mostly from the comfort of my camping chair. On Sunday night, I started on a new episode of Season 8 of Wentworth before deciding that it was too intense, so I switched to Avatar: The Last Airbender. When I couldn’t focus on the storyline, despite it being aimed at preteens, I switched to some garbage videos on YouTube. When that didn’t do the trick, I went to bed. It wasn’t even 10 pm.

Before I continue this post, I want to thank those who checked in with me after reading my last post. It made me feel supported. For future reference, I can also be reached at squaremeat at gmail or lkvy at hotmail. Yes, I can be trusted to transfer large amounts of money into an overseas bank account.

So, I still compose personal emails because I’m old fashioned. Last night, I took it a step further by breaking out the stationery and gel pens:

Sheets of stationery paper with "Hello old pal... old pen pal..." written in purple ink. The text printed on the stationery reads: Purple tears. The jewel of the shape of tears shines very much."
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Seclusion delusion.

I am officially a hermit!

No more coming home to Bubble greeting me by flopping around on the floor blissfully. No more catering to Enfoiré’s hunger before having him reward me with cuddles.

I no longer have pets to pet.

I can freely toss my hoodies over a chair without worrying about Enfoiré swallowing a piece of the drawstring, requiring a vet visit, as has happened before. No more waking up at 5am to the cats vaulting off me in a plea for crunchies. No more sopping up cat vomit with my socks while they’re on my feet. I can leave the bathroom door open without the cats sneaking in there to gnaw on the shower curtain liner. My electronic chargers, hair bands, and bra straps are no longer enticing snacks that need to be stored away.

Bubble was fussy and demanding, while Enfoiré had an eating disorder that ruled his demeanor. Despite their flaws, they were the best cats I’ve ever had.

Continue reading “Seclusion delusion.”