breakfast
i can’t really write with you eating over my shoulder. it makes an itching in my ears that can be quelled with q-tips. the sounds of foods being mashed and crushed into a pulpy mix then the push and strain, the gulp, of your throat forcing them down into the deep recess for the toss-around and the disintegration. when it happens to me, it feels good and the sounds are deeply internal. almost an echo in my head. the crunch. the push. the splash. but from an external chair it’s human and sedentary. defiance of death listened to with displeasure. worse yet is the clink of the spoon on bowl. ceramic clunk that clarifies your existence. and the whirling eddy of liquid bubbling and swirling beneath your approaching utensil. i guess this is all beautiful to the creator. if i had made a child, the pride that would follow with it’s every nuance and intelligence. but i haven’t. and i don’t. so it becomes an ear whig for me. a sampling of failure perhaps. something that needs only to be drowned out. with humming. loud music. or the hasty slamming of fingers on keys. faster means louder. and now you’re done. there is silence. breathing. occasional sniff. more breathing. i miss it. the mashing. the chewing. the grinding of flakes. i’m lost i think. always questioning and demanding and making a scene. picky. anal retentive. a bitch. there is a certain solace found in definition. we all want to be defined in some way or another. it sets a boundary that never needs to be crossed. a crevice that holds us where we think we should be. safety in enclosure. normality. and again it’s lonely and frustrating. never to know what is really wanted. only knowing what is never expected. i think it’s a throwback annoyance from a father i disagreed with. the sipping and gulping of coffee in the early morning hours when sleep still kept a grip on me and i didn’t want to let it go. i think disagreeing with someone makes them an annoyance to you. therefore, their every action becomes this inflated gesture of contempt. never a verbal disagreement. just an idea in my head that he was wrong and i was right. maybe it was immaturity. how much does a sixteen year old know? but this twenty five year old still holds on to the noise association. age mellows. or so i’ve heard.