the cupboard was bare

so this Old Mother Hubbard went grocery shopping

by the time I make it back to The Tower I have accidentally acquired more food than I can probably eat before its sell-by-date, but at least I remembered the coffee beans and the loo roll

I fanny about for a bit, make a mess, tidy up; make a coffee (milk? tick), smoke a fag (spare packet? nope - will have to venture out again at some stage later on); do laundry (laundry powder? tick), hang out the clean but wet items (totally refuse to use a tumble dryer when there is a breeze blowing, even tho I have no line and there's a "rule" that residents can't put laundry on the balconies) (a clothes horse was one of the first things I bought when I "moved in")
.
(totally in denial about "living" "here"? tick) (here? if I have to) (living? *wrinkles nose and frowns*); smoke another fag, make another coffee, think I ought to eat some of that food. . .

. . .I'm still not doing kitchen knives (altho I have retained the ability to shave under my arms, I'm sure you'll be very pleased to know), so I take a ready-prepared Caesar Salad out of the fridge. . .

and, as I do so, I ponder whether the ready-made salad is worse for the environment (than a DIY salad) because it comes in a plastic carton, and maybe I really ought to have bought a lettuce (even tho I can't chop it up) (altho I could have ripped it); but then again, I won't be doing any washing-up if I eat the salad direct from the carton and put the carton in the recycling afterwards (see what my mind does because I have noone to talk to?) (of course, actually it's too late for this train of thought, because I have already bought the salad - should have done this thinking when I was trolling about town doing the grocery shopping) (see what my mind is doing because I have noone to talk to?)
.
. . .but it's a little sparse on the fun bits, so I add some freshly ground black pepper, more croutons, more dressing and more Parmesan. . .

. . .and promptly burst into tears

he taught me how to shave Parmesan onto my Caesar Salad, rather than grate it

of all the things I have forgotten, why do I have to remember the moment when he stood next to me in the kitchen, next to me, gently took the grater out of my hands, picked up the cheese slicer and tenderly said, in his soft tones, "here, let me do that for you"

it really felt as if he loved me
.
but perhaps he didn't

is there a difference?
between the experience and the reality?
.
does it matter now anyway?
..
actually, don't answer that
.
f*cking Parmesan cheese

8 comments:

Rimshot said...

yeah! F*cking Parmesan cheese!

Steg said...

I loathe fecking parmesan! Smells like sick.

Oh, sorry! :-)

Anonymous G said...

I won't answer the question. But, the feeling of being loved is a strong feeling one doesn't forget...

((((ILTV))))

Maybe you should go back to grating the parmesan cheese? I rather like it that way. My grater(the kind with the handle that goes round and round) makes little tiny curls of cheese. I make sure that every bite of whatever it is that I'm eating is covered with those little curls of cheese.

I love f*cking parmesan cheese.

oh. let me re-phrase that.

I f*cking love parmesan cheese.

;-)

I'm sorry it makes you sad.

(((ILTV)))

Mel said...

And I'm sorry for that sad moment in time...I know they suck and they're just plain painful.

The reality of today is just what it is. It's not an indictment of you in any way, shape or form. I know that's a pill people want to examine and give the bitter lable to.....but really, it's neutral.
It just IS how it is.

And just so ya know how irritating WPIML is, when I noted that I had to do all the calling his response was "So? Who's the adult? And since when do phone calls define the measure of love one has for another? You ain't placed a phone call to me in two weeks.....you tryin' to tell me somethin'?"

*rolling eyes*
k.....he mighta had a point.
MY point was I was needing a bit of comfort and reassurance.
He assured me I was looking in the wrong direction--again, I was the adult, I was suppose to be providing it?

Rawr.....LOL

WPIML really IS a compassionate, loving person. LOL REALLY he is.

He just won't cosign my miserableness....the rascal.....
Make the call.
Hearing and talking and sharing with them makes for a happier/more satisfied you. Does it really matter if the dime is yours or theirs? (see, I'm MUCH more compassionate than WPIML is! Feeling bad for me yet? LOL)

I know it's painful...the awakening to being in the circumstances you'd set your sights on never being in.
I also know they're just the circumstances and not your destiny.

((((((((((( ILTV )))))))))))))))

I could box up WPIML and send him off to ya.
I could use the vacation.

Ummmm...errrrrrrrrr......
I meant HE could use the vacation.
:-D

Gordie said...

That's a beautiful memory.
I hope it stays with you.
I hope you have more love in your life.

mig bardsley said...

Sweetheart, Mel's right. Phone them. They need you to be in touch with them. You need to hear their voices and you need to speak to people.

Big big hugs
xxx

katherine. said...

I know how those powerful memories can sneak up on you....

{{{ILTV}}}

I, like the view said...

)-:

but thatnk you for bringing me back here to read the comments once more

(-: