Textures

There are many rules.

Plastic for oil and grease. Plastic forks for spaghetti, spoons for grits with butter. Metal for cold things, but the metal should be smooth, no tiny nicks. The taste of cold metal is as important as the ice cream itself.

Garret thinks a fork is a fork. And does not understand that there are good forks and bad forks. He judges food by TASTE and disregards texture. Which is like picking out shoes only by color and not by size. Strange.

Orange juice TASTES much better than Milk. Milk doesn't have an interesting flavor at all. But orange juice is ROUGH and Milk is SMOOTH. Milk is a silky cocoon, orange juice is a sandpaper pick-axe.

Garret and I went to the grocery store last night. We don't have a lot of money, so we need to get cheap food. He gets frustrated because I am not happy with the cheap foods he likes.

I confess, that I am using money, or lack thereof, as an excuse to drink milk and eat crappy food. My body feels icky.

The thing is, when I want to eat a Smooth-Spicy, other food will just make me mad. Before I figured out what I was doing, years ago, I used to eat and eat and eat. I would be full but still thinking I was "hungry" because I was craving a certain thing.

Now I understand that if I WANT masaman curry, I should not eat pizza, because that will not help. So now, if I want masaman curry, and there is none, then I just don't eat.

Garret and I fight about this. He thinks I should eat every day, and gets annoyed when I don't want to. I get mad because I don't want to end up eating everything in the house, because, since it is all the wrong thing, I might keep pacing and eating in search of some curry that isn't there.

I do agree I need to drink water everyday. I have been bad about that, and did get dehydrated. But it is just so COLD, and the water comes out of the sink so COLD, and even if you turn it hot, the faucet is COLD and the water that comes out first is COLD and it makes my fingers go numb and I hate it I hate it, I will drink more water in the summer.

So, I do not know what to do about Garret and food.

Also, I don't quite think he believes me about the milk/gluten stuff affecting me, making my body feel blah. He says he does, but I feel somewhat... patronized.

My brain-tongue feels dulled. Licked sick.

It takes me a long time to construct a sentence, because my Head just trip-skips aHead, from song lyric to movie scene to book line... and for the most part, I love this. Because it is a twisty path to follow. A Headlong rush down rabbit holes. Head, long, long, long path to get to... where? the Cheshire cat says it doesn't matter which road you take if you don't know where you are Headed.... i am lost right now in the fun, but such an effort to stay linear, on the path of the end of this sentence, trying to screen out lines from Fight Club-- telling me it would heal if only you could stop tonguing it, way back from when i typed- licked sick. i have missed a dozen side-tunnel-stories trying to type this end here, and there are too many twists for the breadcrumbs, what's the way back, what's the way back? lost in the caves forever.