I spent the morning with doctors and the rest of the day slithering across my hardwood floor like a — well, to call my slithering snake-like would be a disservice to the graceful and swift movements of a snake.
I spent the morning with doctors and the rest of the day slithering across my hardwood floor like a rhinoceros with a price sticker stuck to her underside, trying to scrape it off by dragging her belly across the floor. Look, ma! No toes.
All of these antics were because standing up makes me want to vomit. Looking at a screen for too long makes me want to vomit. Switching between two focal points makes me want to vomit.
Every so often, I get a window of opportunity where it stops, and I try to take advantage of it. I leap from that window like a– well, to call my leaping bird-like or squirrel-like would be a disservice to the sweet and steady flutters of little land creatures. I leap from the window like a rhinoceros that has decided a window is basically a door if you charge fast enough.
I am currently charging. In my last window, I made salt & vinegar smashed potatoes for the first time ever. I like them, but I miss the rough scrape of vinegar in salt & vinegar potato chips. I don’t know if this is part of artificial flavoring or a step that I just missed. I want my tongue to feel rough and heavy like, well, a rhino’s tongue.
No one ever accused me of not being able to lean into a theme, even though the very idea of leaning makes me want to vomit. I think that means my window is closing, and since rhinos can’t jump, I guess I’ll slowly clamor my way back to the safe warm floor.
The floor that does not move. The floor that does not tilt or shake or scramble into a vortex just beyond my sight.
The floor that holds me steady as I wait for my next opening.