A Party Year and I Don’t Feel Festive

***

Chinese astrology (and, maybe, predictions from astrology in general) is a bit like a certain brand of computer games that seems to have a mind of its own, telling me how and when to play. And, I guess, as I recently experienced a major “glitch” (troubling error), perhaps that too resembles my experiences with Chinese astrology.

I refer you back to 2015…a Wood Sheep year I thought was a sign of finding the love I have sought most of my life. I thought good things were in the near future; I just had to get out and find them. But, not long into that fateful year, I wound up in a hospital and was subject to a number of tests and treatments like a lab rat just to get me back in semi-normal functioning order. The expression “it cost me an arm and a leg” became a grim, somewhat sinister reality that year and continues to haunt me. I saw pretty faces but lost all or never had any chance of achieving a greater connection with them. So much for finding love. If there was any love that year, it was more like pity and it came with suffering.

Now, to be fair, there was no book or placemat telling me that was the year to find love. I took it upon myself to believe that from what I had grasped of/from Chinese astrology. I didn’t have a master/medium/guru to consult. I simply “divined” the possibility from what I had learned. Which, like many of my mistakes in this life, resulted in a slap-in-the-face disappointment.

In 2004, I took a costly trip overseas to fill a big hole in my life’s “experience folder.” I followed the ways of Bruce Almighty and said (to anyone who wrinkled their nose at me when I told them what I had planned), “If you don’t like what I’m doing, you can ‘megabyte’ me.” I didn’t know much about Chinese astrology at the time but had an inkling of good feeling and built my hopes up by carefully planning everything I could. Sadly, while I was ensured a measure of safety from certain harm, plans fell apart, social experiments failed under a cloak of deceptive friendship and I returned home with a case of souvenirs which left me feeling nearly as empty as I did when I left home.

I cried for days if not weeks, nearly as long as it took me to shake the jet lag. I felt as if the monkey (year) had made a fool out of me, once again. I remember watching so many others enjoying themselves while I struggled to insert myself into the fun, somehow. It was a bit like watching a celebration on a big TV and thinking I could step through the screen; there was no logical way to fit into the picture. The party crowd was just an illusion on the other side of a glass wall; I was not welcome (unless I changed who or whatever I was/am, maybe). I took what small positives I could from that experience…it was an experience which taught me a few things I’d hopefully be able to use on future trips to avoid repeat disappointment.

Now, what does all of this have to do with the price of tea in China? Perhaps nothing.

But, this year, 2019, is said to be a year to party and enjoy the fruits of past labors. Yet, as I think of the past eleven years, I cannot fathom how or what to celebrate. I used to dismiss the disagreements with family, who seemed unable to understand my interest in, my passion for celebrations of other cultures, and find my own small way to enjoy something like the Asian moon/harvest festival.

2011 was probably the last year I can recall feeling remotely good about that. I made an effort to grow pumpkins and redeem what was lost in my youth to very strange foul weather, a freak hail storm which destroyed a precious pumpkin plant in my family’s garden in the middle of summer, as if some god threw down a lightning bolt and said, “No! You can’t have any! No pumpkins for you!” I sought out my own kind of moon cake and bought paper lanterns. I had a party for one outside while the rest of my family isolated themselves with TV and computer screens. It was both mildly amusing and deeply tragic.

This year, I feel very un-festive. I feel like…what’s the point? And, somewhat accepting my lack of company on the same wave length, I feel like leaving the lights off and the decorations packed away. The Asian moon/harvest festival just came and went, and I didn’t even check out the moon until the night my most recent upset unfolded, the cliche Friday the 13th. I didn’t find my special moon cake. And, as family talked about caramel apples, I didn’t feel as strongly as I have in the past to get a special one of my own (which usually costs more than I’ve been told makes any sense to pay).

I couldn’t care less about dressing up for Halloween, if family can get together for Thanksgiving or if there are any decorations or presents out for Christmas. I’m slowly starting to agree with all those who “bah humbug” the holidays as commercial trickery. And, that really makes me want to cry. But, perhaps, all my “dammed” tears (tears I cannot seem to shed alone and which continue to amass behind a mental dam) are merely the sound of paper tearing, paper torn by the grim reality of practical value, telling me what is merely an illusion of happiness and what is the biological function of inevitable decomposition.

It’s really difficult to stand firm on any feeling because there always seems to be that other side of the fence making some kind of noise. If you’re the festive sort, there’s someone who’s a “humbug” nearby, trying to lower your lights and silence the music. If you’re the “humbug,” there’s someone turning up their music, launching firecrackers and/or turning their home into a spectacle. It’s like, no matter where you go, there’s no peace of mind. And, if the peace people carol about cannot be found, well, that’s just tragic and tears me to the core. It makes me question everything. And, questioning everything just stops the world dead. Everything becomes a rusting amusement park strung with cobwebs.

I “hear” some factor of Virgo (and/or Pisces?) might be responsible for this recent bout with self-doubt. But, who knows for sure. Though, I do see others, even here, having similar doubts. At least, it appears the doubts are similar. But, knowing my luck, this is just another misconception, another assumed grasp of reality ready to be shaken by disagreement.

It just makes me feel lousy to think this year could be the biggest party in twelve years and I, once more, don’t feel like being part of the crowd. Imagine going the next eleven years, listening to people rave about that party back in 2019 before they bemoan the toils of the present “labor” year.

To be fair, I’m not much of a crowd person, as far as I know my core spirit (though my thoughts of such have been swayed by research of astrology). I’ve never been comfortable at loud parties with countless people…or even a family of fifteen. When I was a kid, grown-ups did all of the partying; and us kids just had to sit quietly with a present, if we were lucky to get one. We didn’t get to play much together nor with the adults. I would latch onto brief smiles from pretty older aunts and cousins and think I was at the door to some magical world…and then be forced to let it all slip away as I returned to a restricted life at home like Cinderella and try to reset my mind for school work and all the education I was being told was important. I rarely knew the true warmth of friendship; friends would appear and disappear or change into something I could no longer accept.

And, I still occasionally mourn the loss of what I consider the best friend I’ve ever had, partially blaming myself (and partially blaming her). She was the only friend who stood beside me and came to my aid when I was suffering; she checked in on me like a good nurse. Male friends were only looking for fun I could rarely supply because I didn’t share the same sort of imagination or have the latest toys. But, *she* wasn’t like that; she would have been my friend, no matter what I had or didn’t have. And, though I didn’t share all of her interests (which made me worry I wasn’t the best of friends), I was fairly content just being with her, seeing her smile and hearing her infectious laughter. Yet, we drifted apart after she denied me the growing feelings I had and went to a different school where she became involved with some guy using drugs; and, back then, that was like a cardinal sin to those of us who had been raised on anti-drug campaigns. Had I known then what I know now, I might not have shuddered at all at the realization and fought to keep her at my side (instead of letting her go and drifting into my own solitary misery). [Granted, to be fair, I was in no position to fight for someone else at the time. I was grateful to have any friend visit me and give me some sign of comfort and/or strength to fight with my own internal monsters. I couldn’t be someone’s hero when I needed my own hero…or heroine (a female hero, not the drug).]

If I had an inkling of that same good, enduring feeling (that I had with her) with another person in the past thirty years, I’d be less inclined to mope. But, sadly, I cannot say anyone could compete with her. A rare phone call or email just isn’t the same as someone who could pay me a visit and shake the tears from my branches until I could smile, again. A pen pal is a nice dessert but far from the main course I still do not have in/with me. And, I think of all the things we had yet to do together, things so many young lovers claim they’ve done (or so I hear). While many turned their focus to the pursuit of sex, I was thinking about so many other possibilities that would bring far better, enduring joy. It just never came to pass. And, at my age, it seems like a foolish notion to consider anything outside of a world of broken marriages and single parenthood, of “sloppy seconds” and “second chances,” if that, of people making desperate moves out of desperate positions only to fall back into fruitless ruts after attempting to satisfy their “sweet tooths” (or sweet teeth?). I don’t want to think any window has closed for good………..

….So, we’ve reached that point in my train of thought when I know I need to hit the breaks (Tsssh!) and regroup so I can get on with my life before I am completely and permanently derailed.

I know I shouldn’t let any of this get to me. But, I feel an inclination to mentally stab myself (not using an actual knife) for missing out on some festivities, for not making the proper moves to share in the fun, every time word of some party going on reaches my ear. I don’t buy into all the “best ever” and “bigger than ever” crap people keep pitching. But, I know there’s a party…and, even though I’m not the best party joiner…suffering from some variety of social discomfort/anxiety…I’m missing…something. I suspect what I am really missing is the joy of good companionship, of friendship and revitalizing love. But, many if not all of us feel that pull when people are enjoying themselves; don’t we? You feel like you’re on a dark street looking in on some lively, colorful crowd laughing, dancing, eating and drinking. You feel just a little like that infamous Scrooge traveling the pathways of time and space with those three eerie spirits.

But, down the road, I doubt these feelings will matter much…or they will just become “wash” in the layers of sand gathered during aging. I just…don’t want to be an old humbug. But, I also don’t see a way around it. And, that makes me quite nauseous and tense.

And, how does one go on living when the past seems so empty, when your story cannot feel as good as that of another you encounter (and it makes no sense to say it’s better than the case of some other poor chap)? When that fateful day arrives to write an obituary about yours truly, what will it say and who will write it? I currently don’t have someone I know will do myself justice in print. Nor, even if I did, can I feel good about filling this life to its fullest. Maybe I never should let such notions get into my head. Maybe everyone can only live life as full as they can or the Fates allow. Maybe I only get half a life while someone else gets twice their expected share. Maybe that’s just the way of the cosmos and beyond human understanding…and not something we humans should dare pass around as fact or expectation.

So, what if I write my own obituary? Would that matter? A little. And, still, it would feel empty. Because, aside from my good intentions and fewer deeds of service than some I’ve come to know, I see plenty of missed opportunities either thrust upon me by controlling and/or mentally abusive adults or spawned from within myself by genetic “doubts” and “fears.” And, it pains me to think of when I did take chances only to fall flat on my back and injure myself. It’s as if even trying to do something was in error. So, why try anything? It’s a question that continues to peck at me and leaves me feeling restless.

If only I could tune out the rest of the world and focus only on what is in front of me. Even if I could or would do that, could I be content or find contentment in that? Or, is it already too late?…because I’ve bitten the apple that flooded my eyes with illusions of wonder?…with ideas of what could be and pretty faces I wish I could call my friends and lovers?

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Who Was Forced Into This World at Birth?

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Just a quick/simple question…

Who here was a forced birth? When you were born, did your mother go into labor?…or was labor induced before you were plucked from the womb? And, did you suffer in any way from the forced birth?

[Okay; maybe not very simple.]

I ask because I was a forced birth. And, I was subject to some “birth defect” as a result. And, looking at how my life has unfolded and continues to unfold, I keep getting this rippling, echoing feeling like I should never have entered this world, or this dimension. [Yet, another part of me pulls me in a different direction and tells me I am here for some special purpose that is written in the numbers and stars. It’s an on-going game of tug-of-war inside me.]

Now, after you answer that question, if you care to walk with me, be warned. It gets a bit “heavy.” And, you may feel the ground crumble from under your feet.

As I touched on in a previous post, I see so much in this world/dimension that is wrong and conflicts with my spirit. I’ve endured so much “crap” and see plenty of others suffering even more, at least, in ways I don’t even want to imagine much less see. I see plenty of people living in delusional ways at great expense while plenty more unseen or badly rendered faces get dragged through messes with authorities and militaristic policing forces. And, I start to wonder if the stories we write, so many that have been “dystopian,” aren’t unfolding as we write them…or if certain stories written long ago, perhaps predicted by ancient people, aren’t weaving into existence.

I am divided between the world around me which lacks friendship, self-esteem, cooperation and a little discipline, which settles for and offers little for slavery, lacks glamor/style and divides people like cold fish in a processing plant…and the world I see on TV which is either on the verge of destruction, even total annihilation, or “living the high life” of risk, wealth, drugs, marriage and lust. I see dreamy possibilities but no real and/or pleasant path to achieving them…nor do I comprehend what I would do once I reached that dreamy plateau…which makes all creative efforts fairly worthless, like building a house of cards just to see it fall. If there is a way to reach the “golden city,” it seems paved with traps, deception and torture; is it any different than being lured into biting an apple from a tree you were warned to avoid?

And, while all of this–and more–passes through my mind, I am sure some may breeze by my words and shake their heads or laugh at their foolish nature. You may tell me all I have said makes no sense or isn’t true. But, maybe, that’s just how you perceive this world/life. And, maybe, we each experience it differently. Maybe, no matter how we connect, we are each experiencing this existence separately and only seeing virtual reactions from the bodies/minds around us…isn’t that a terrifying thought?

So far, my only “saving grace” has been to be mindful of the good stories from long ago, of figures like Jesus being of service to others. I tell myself to help others when and where I can; so even if the rest of this life sucks and the world goes up (or down) in flames tomorrow, I can die knowing I did some good.

But, even that feels somewhat sad and empty…or, rather, I feel sad and empty when my thoughts shift to what seems to be missing in this life…love and friendship…comfort and acceptance…being in tune with the natural world as nature intended and feeling the fullness of my spirit as it was created, not simply repeating the words of some fabricated religion, telling myself it will get better. Talk is cheap, as some say. And, I am growing tired of talking. My spirit burns and yearns for something greater. It wants to sink my toes in warm, wet sand and let the symphonies of crashing tides and whispering woods fill it to the brim of zen/blissful completion. But, if this world is so crappy…if everything is polluted and some risk to my being…why? Why do I burn this way inside? Is it a mad trick to torture me?…like dangling a carrot in front of a hungry horse?

A Fatal Choice -Which Do You Choose?-

***

Let’s say you enter this life and have two choices of how to live.

A) You survive until you are 60 to 110 years old but are doomed to die from a plague sweeping the planet which ultimately touches nearly every person like mold on pumpkins. Your life expectancy is a blend of genetics and whatever man-made products you put into yourself which keep you going as long as you can…as well as bringing you down in the end.

B) You sign a contract or invest in the necessary equipment (sort of like paying for college and all that goes with it to get a degree) to transfer your “doomed” human identity into a machine supplied by a monopolizing company already spreading its financial cloak of dominance over the planet. However many years and however you live those years as a human being are inconsequential; as you will join the collective hive/mind of billions of other robots who bought into this “life insurance plan.”

Which would you choose?

Or, do the prospects of both make you wish you were never born?

[More on that philosophy in a near-future post.]

Just answer the question. Don’t LIKE or star this for later and forget about it or pass it on. And, if it’s not too much trouble, explain your answer/decision; what makes you choose that path?

Wedding/Engagement Alternatives

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Wedding/Engagement brainstorm!

So, I’m half-asleep, watching one more lame late-night talk show; and I see Jennifer Lopez talking about her latest marriage/engagement to Alex Rodriguez. I’m thinking…this is what marriage for her? And, how many, like her, go through this rotating stomach turn fest of multiple marriages? And, how many jewelry companies dish out how many ads and how many rings priced how high for this mess?

No mas! ‘Kay?!

So, it hits me like a bullet train outta Tokyo. Bam!

Wedding rings. Wedding rings get bought and boxed. Then they sit in those boxes for a while until the guy proposes, when they go on women’s fingers during a very tense moment. Then those rings sit on the fingers of those women, anxiously waiting for the next step and the next ring, which gets placed on the same finger during a tense moment, in which so much is planned and expected to perform without error.

And then, more often than not, lately, an uncertain amount of time passes before…

The ring gets misplaced.

OR

The marriage grows stale and/or unveils faults which crumble the union, though the ring remains.

The ring goes on, but the marriage does not. Now, what sense does that make? I thought the ring meant never-ending love. So, now, I am inclined to think a wedding ring is a expensive lie and waste of resources.

[Besides, I cannot feel as passionately about a diamond ring as I would/should feel for any woman. I cannot pick out “the perfect ring” for the “perfect bride” if there is even the slightest chance those words will fall short one day. Nor am I a fan of rings, at all, and cannot see myself wearing and caring for one the rest of my life with anyone.]

So…what to do; what to do…

How can we replace something as iconic as the wedding ring? That’s like replacing Coke or Pepsi or the Big Mac. I mean, how can we replace something that has been pitched as essential for so long but isn’t exactly good for us in the long run?

Oh! I got it.

WEDDING WATCHES. ENGAGEMENT WATCHES.

If you’re snickering right now or thinking I am strange, go ahead. Laugh. Then think about this.

Most marriages I’ve encountered, on a level beyond the superficial, newfound happiness or obvious conflicts (IE parents who don’t like the man who has married their daughter and refuse to accept him as their son-in-law), reach a “rough patch.” Those that don’t are typically marriages without kids in which both partners have schedules in sync and they regularly travel or keep up the dating cycles to keep things fresh. That, I think, is a big key–or ring–many misplace or slight. When you tie yourself up with a family, mortage, car, etc., your mind and body get divided; you look at sex differently (especially if you don’t want more kids to throw off your balance…unless you’re those rabbits that can keep popping them out and don’t give a damn how big the farm gets, when you come from a dynasty). Even expenses take on a different light. You reach a stop light where you have to make some key decisions about your habits and/or future. [And, I am not even a licensed psychologist, people!]

Now, what happens when you buy a watch? Well, some go big and buy the expensive watch which costs more than it’s really worth; but some are built to last. Some go cheap and enjoy it as long as it lasts before it gets replaced or repaired.

Repaired. Ah. Lightbulb!

What is a married couple doing when they go to marriage counseling, as many do? They are attempting to repair the marriage…just like a watch! Well, not just like a watch. I mean, sure, there are metaphorical gears to re-align; but no physical metal parts (unless you’ve had a very unusual replacement surgery).

So, why not a pair of HIS and HERS watches, instead of wedding/engagement rings?

That way, when the watch needs a new battery, new wristband, new whatever, you do a marriage check-up (if not sooner). It’s an evaluation period; it’s a reminder to refresh, reset, renew, reboot, wind, unwind…get yourselves back into working order. Maybe a new battery means you need to renew vows or do something you haven’t done in a while. Maybe a new wristband means trying something new together or changing the way you do something that’s become a bad routine/habit.

I know, in this age of everything-on-one-small-screen-you-can-fit-in-that-larger-pocket-made-to-accommodate-those-not-too-small-small-screens, who wears watches, anymore? [Well, I do.] What time is it? Wait; let me open my purse or dig into my big back pocket and pull out my portable clock, or rectangular pocket watch-computer-coupon-book-flashlight-et-cetera. It’s a white rabbit age. Everyone’s late for an important date; and they’re all packing rectangular pocket watches.

But, some watches come with some nice little perks, like heart monitors and step counters, for you exercise-conscious folks who need to mind their shape (and diet). A watch can be an amazing companion, just like a loving spouse.

What does a ring do? Look pretty as long as its polished? Like wearing makeup or getting a spray tan? Hmm.

If you lose your spouse down a drain, did you leave her at some dive bar?

The watch can be just as perfect a choice, with more fashionable choices than I’ve seen for rings. And, it’s not guaranteed to last, to just exist perfectly on its own the way a ring is treated.

You see what I am saying? You buy into the rings and expect them to be there, like the marriage. But, the marriage can fall apart if you’re not regularly attending it. If you can’t attend a ring, if there’s nothing to attend, what good is it? And, how does it keep the union going? By remaining attached to your finger?

So, should married couples remain stitched together or holding hands? That’s not going to work. That’s not going to happen. And, from my limited experience with couples (as I’ve never been married, to tell the truth), no couple needs or should be together every minute of the day, of the week, month, year or decade.

You can keep a watch on as long as you want or take it off, just as you can wear or take off your ring. And, the watch is bound to need a tune-up, now and then. But, that’s okay. And, that’s good. Because you need to remember your marriage needs attending, even if you get divided by kids and all the other financial and social details that get in the way.

I wear a watch. I can do this. I will wear a marriage watch and take it off when I choose, if my lover will do the same. It does not mean we go about “fooling around” as some seem to give reason to removing their rings. Just because we don’t have our watches on doesn’t mean we are single.

So, sure, that may come up as a challenge or problem in social situations when someone sees no ring (or watch) and is inclined to press the question (are you married) or assume single status. But, that’s life. If a question can be asked, it will be, no matter if you’re wearing a significant ring or not. Heck, married folks worm their way into affairs without giving the ring a third thought. So what?

Wedding watches. Engagement watches. Pass it on. I think it’s just the new ring we’ve all been seeking. It’s time to give the old ways of marriage a fresh look and a check-up.

…….And, it all started with the Big Bang.

Why not take this one or more steps further? Why stop there?

Watches just aren’t your thing?

How about a wedding CAR for the couple that likes to take road trips? You propose at a garage, revealing the ride for your next adventure together (versus those car commercials for the well-ta-do family that buys every kid in their family a new car off the lot and tops it with a giant bow). Or, you drive to pick up your soon-to-be-spouse in the new car/vehicle and propose from atop the hood before driving off together to your next destination.

Or, if that’s too rich for your blood, how about a wedding BED? You welcome the soon-to-be-spouse into your soon-to-be-shared home and present the ultimate love nest in the room you share ONLY when you’re happy to share a room that way. [I have a whole thing and other posts about having separate bedrooms for most nights, to preserve the relationship by providing personal spaces/sanctuaries and not sleeping together when there’s a factor causing friction.] You could refresh the relationship every time you change the sheets, replace bedding or flip the mattress.

So, there are three grand ideas. And, I am sure these will help inspire others. There’s no limit to the possibilities…or none I can fit into my mind at the moment. And, if I think about it enough, this post will never reach its end.

Tay Break: Reality Check Moment, 9-13-2019

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So, I find myself asking myself, once more, why do I do it?  Why have I done this?  Why have I and why do I continue to give so much time and energy to it?…especially if I get no desired response?  And, why do I bother doing it HERE…where it’s much quieter than other places I’ve been and heard about…why not put it out THERE?  So many questions.

What’s this about?  Oh, you know.  My obsession with the lovely Taylor Alison Swift.

[Okay, you can stop groaning in the back!  All right!  I know!  Too many posts about her.  ‘Got it.]

I’m just having one of those moments when I question my purpose, my drive and my sanity.   I’ve crossed the one-gig line.  I have more than 1 GB of Tay Swift art on my computer.  I don’t know how much space other artists give, on average to their obsessive projects.  But, that seems like quite a lot to me.  It’s uncharted territory and makes me feel like I’m on some Star Trek quest.

I have a BUTT-LOAD of new pictures to present here in the coming months…well, aiming for her special birthday.  [Though that creative sharing finger of mine is itching to put them/some up sooner than later.]

But, why am I doing this?  I am not sure…I mean, I know I am putting my feelings out here…but what good is it doing?  I haven’t heard anything.  Haven’t seen…well, that’s the funny/weird part.

You see….

I get this feeling like someone IS passing my thoughts and ideas onto HER.  Or, she and I are so in sync that we’re sharing the ideas.  Because I’ve seen a few little things that make me think it’s true.  I’ve seen a few videos that seem fairly convincing…though I can’t often find any clear message in the lyrics, and usually learn later that the song was supposedly about someone else in the spotlight, someone who grazes HER personal space like a cartoon villain.  Spotlight on the silhouette over there, before we reveal the mystery star of the song.  [Seriously, some sorta Pokémon slash Cutey Honey slash Sailor Moon slash Speed Racer action in play.]

But, beyond these preciously curious moments…I am in doubt of my usage of time and energy.  …Except for the benefit the effort has given me, which is practice with my latest digital art program.  In a small way, being one of my biggest muses, she has helped me practice my personal therapy, my art (even if I haven’t drawn anything by hand on paper in a while…which depresses me a bit).  [ I can’t seem to draw on paper, anymore, without more “heart” to fuel my creative muscles.  I just don’t feel like drawing for practice, which goes against the good artist code.]

I have another reason that I am questioning my obsessive creative effort, but…can you believe I am kinda afraid to say it?  [I touched on it in my first big letter to Tay (in my blog archives).]

Not knowing how to wrap this up, I’ll just silently bow or nod and step away.

Are You Associated Press?

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I heard another little voice the other day. It asked me, “Are you associated with WordPress?”

Well, I have been making blog posts and pages at the WordPress website for a number of years. So, I guess, in a way, I am associated with them. Yeah.

“Then, I guess, that makes you Associated Press.”

Hey. Whatdya know. I’m (an) Associated Press. You might have heard that term in the news or on some celebrity award show. ‘Just letting you know there’s more to me than meets the eye. [Heh-heh.]

Food for Thought…the Sensuality of Food

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Now, stop right where you are if you think I am even attempting to write some sort of Fifty Shades of Food Porn.  I am not.   I am just going to make a “brief” statement…and then, later, maybe, expand upon it as thoughts come to me…about how food is not just for eating and/or replenishing the energy we use to perform certain physical functions.

This may not be a mind-blower to many of you.

But, have you considered how food (including all the “junk” you stuff down your throats) is more than the stuff that…you…stuff down your throats…to satisfy what the average person understands as hunger?

I’m sure you’ve heard the expression “brain food.”  Yes?  You acknowledge how certain foods are used to “fuel the brain” (not the stomach).  ‘Ever thought about that?  About why that food impacts your mind’s ability to function?  It’s SENSORY.  It’s SENSUAL.

It affects the senses.  It’s not just what makes you happy when you’re sad (like the pint of ice cream or chocolate used by, typically, a woman in emotional distress after some relationship-related conflict, whether that’s a romantic, family or work-related conflict).  It’s not just what gives your brain that buzz it needs to stay “focused” on work (or whatever you do otherwise creatively).

It’s a smell that sticks in your mind and can sell you on more of the same food every time you smell, hear, see or think of it.  It stains your clothes and your memory; and those stains can affect your ability to function, throw you off “your game” and make you self-conscious or distracted at a crucial moment.  It conjures thoughts, reminding you of the best ice cream you ever had how long ago, like remembering a lost friend or lover.  Money may be the root of evil and make the world go ’round.  But, food is as effective as music at messing with the mind.  [You tell me, travelers who get around more than I do, how much food appears in hieroglyphics and other old paintings.]

You don’t even have to EAT food to be filled or made hungry by it.  How does food make you hunger for it?  And, how can you be satisfied by food without eating it?  Think about that.

Why do artists bother with recreating bowls of fruit?  I never understood it.  I never enjoyed it…unless I could turn the fruit into cartoon characters with silly faces.  But, now, I think I get it.  It’s because the food is speaking to the artist who enjoys recreating it.  It’s, in a slightly different way, brain food.

When you’re in a movie theater chugging back sodas and snacks, why do you mindlessly do so?  Well, there’s another concept at play, there.  It’s what the theaters relish to see, people turning off their hunger meters to ride the E of mindless entertainment, or ME.  You don’t think about or likely even smell what goes in your mouth when your minds are racing to process what’s on the screen.

Yet, something compels you to buy the snacks (or sneak your own under your clothes) and stuff your face until you might feel the urge to get refills.  Why?  In part, because you convince yourselves the food matters.  But, in another part, the food is having a sensual impact on your mind.  The crunch of popcorn.  The cool, icy sweetness of a good soda.  The stimulation and labor of teeth and gums on chewy candy.  It’s like an orgy in your mouth; it’s like an R-rated movie playing out while you watch…I dunno…Frozen part 52 with your sister’s kids.  One eye is watching a snowman dance and sing with little kids while your mouth is doing the apple-mango tango with highly processed popcorn and other snacks.  You just tune out the orgasmic moans and panting to hear the next kid-friendly song.

So, the next time you’re irritated by the fuzz on a peach or tell someone you don’t like a particular food for whatever reason…think about those reasons and how your body reacts to various foods.  You’re not just eating the food.  You’re smelling, touching, eyeballing and even hearing the sounds given off by the food.

And, your reaction to those sensual aspects affects your daily activity.  In it’s own deceptive way, food can hold power over you, if you let it.  After all, don’t dieters often enough say they are taking a “cheat day?”

[Didn’t a racoon, played by Bruce Willis, give a similar speech to this in Over the Hedge, when he tries to sell the concept of looting to the turtle?]

Food for thought.  [Ka-runch.]