Eating is pretty fucking personal. You eat when you’re getting the feels and shit, when you’re pissed off, when you want to feel some semblance of happiness. I mean, you can use eating as a social vehicle and drive that fucker straight into the “foodie” sunset, but when it comes down to it we are all alone in life and when you’re at the end of your rope, and it’s binge eat all the condiments in the house or tie that rope into a noose, you know the right choice. Are you going to stand there in a dark kitchen illuminated only by the faint glow from that tiny bulb in the back of the fridge as you scoop spoonful after spoonful of every flavor of jelly, jam, dijon, pickle juice, hummus, whatever you got, into your frowning food receptacle and reflect on all the fun you had eating with friends, or are you going to close your eyes after every bite and try to make your body feel something, maybe the sugar rush will raise your heart rate just enough to remind you of a time when you really felt alive, when it was ok, when you accepted yourself. Maybe the harsh bite of a super hot pickled pepper will wake you up inside like the moment you first kissed who you thought was your soul mate, someone who has long washed away into the dark depths and deep waters of your memory. You sit alone, eating, tears rise up. A few find their way out to share that dim light with you, run down your cheek over the crest of your upper lip, and add the salt component you needed in that spoonful of apricot preserves.
I might take it to personal level now and again and tell you about my fucking food and health journey shit, some musings between recipes and talking shit. Follow along, you may learn something about your own inner dealings. You may find that you have some sage fucking wisdom to toss into my own personal Bucket Of Truth. Drop it in the comments. I want to hear what you have to say. Did I get you in the feels? Do you hate when someone says “The Feels” like I do? Tell me. Did you try one of the recipes and it fucking sucked? Let’s talk about it so I can tell you just where you fucked it up. Are you concerned with the language used here? Keep that to your fucking self. I don’t care. Get your own fucking blog and express your outer most suppressed self. I don’t give a shit. This is me. That is you. Keep your shit off my body, I’ll keep mine off yours. I mean, you can bitch about it all you want, but maybe you should channel all of your hatred for obscenities into a different hobby. Something like accepting your fellow humans as they are, and devoting your time to bettering the planet instead of complaining that I said “fuck” like forty billion times. That’s a good hobby. You may find that this is a really useful site, and want to atta boy yours truly? Rad. Tell me about it.
I know I said we are all alone in the world, but we can fucking talk about it. Don’t be afraid of making it personal.