Lulls in mood swings sometimes explode into great lapses of judgment. They also provide the clarity needed to laugh about all the little stuff that don’t mean nothin’ anyhow.
Milk chocolate bars, sweet potato chips, hours of football and over-produced Hollywood movies cranked as loud as the walls can handle, this sweet and weary body just spent three days in a blur of hiding out and saving dividends. Dodging streetwise savages and perfumed women of inebriation by holing up and battening down. Or more accurately, battening up while glazing my donut eyes over 72 hours of big screen television. Even if the bag of M&M’s is pushed over to the far corner of the table, it will inevitably be pilfered by my deviant fingers. Pastries, I love you. Dirty baked goods infiltrate my prurient inclinations. Peanut butter, caramel, nougat, I’m bound by evil while devouring my vile secrets behind drawn blinds, feeding my gnawing face-hole with decadent poisons until I weep with glee and shame. Crammed every piece of junk food not bolted down deep into my gullet until my stomach sat rotting and bloated with sugar, butter, sweet cream and animal fat. Wallowing in horrible splendor, I realized that living for a moment without visible restraint or apparent self-respect sometimes affords unexpected and delicious rewards.
3 days to wander off the radar and throw discipline over the ledge is a beautiful way to burn a weekend.