Preface: It was a lovely tasting steak.
Recipe for happy cats: home grown catnip dried upside down in a paper bag.
I let go of all expectations. I set my soul free. Reality is the truth, the truth is reality. I am capable of seeing only reality, without interjecting my bull shit to fill in the blanks.
Good bye, deli men.
In other news, I am beyond tired. This is day 3 of accidental poison ingestion. It didn’t hit me until 8 hours after I ate a steak marinated in Worcestershire sauce. The ingredients list for French’s is as follows: “Distilled Vinegar, Water, Molasses, Sugar, Salt, Spices, Citric Acid, Anchovy (Fish), Celery Seed, Natural Flavor (Contains Soy), Xanthan Gum (Thickener), Garlic Powder & Tamarind Extract.”
I call this suspect due to the fact that xanthan gum is the latest craze in supposed health food that is only two years old or so. That means they changed their recipe.
Lea & Perrin’s declares to be made of Distilled White Vinegar, Molasses, Sugar, Water, Salt, Onions, Anchovies, Garlic, Cloves, Tamarind Extract, Natural Flavorings, Chili Pepper Extract.
I talked my gal pal into staying in for a meal together instead of hitting up Olive Garden, which is full of three of my nemeses: gluten, cheese, and tomatoes. What she wanted was soup and salad. Instead, we settled on grilled steaks at her house, and I met her husband and her (now) adult daughter, who is studying to become a veterinarian.
The past few days are a bit of a blur, honestly. I was living life too fast again. I put the brakes back on and slowed it down.
I had no idea that Worcestershire sauce was going to make me feel like my entire body was on fire. Good thing I have bentonite clay on hand. I had to find an alternative to charcoal tablets when I became allergic to them. (How do you become allergic to charcoal? Answer: Nearly die the way I nearly died. Do keep up, we’ve discussed this in previous entries. Many of them, in fact.)
When people cannot clip their own toe nails, by the way, they need an intervention. (Sorry, Scott.)
It’s hard, I know, when we keep gaining weight without an explanation. I have one, but nobody is going to like it because it means cutting out a bunch of shit that tastes good. Oh my god, does it all taste good! Ice cream! Cookies! CAKE! But wait, Sansara, I don’t eat that shit anyway, I’m a good boy or girl!
Bread? Bagels? Toast! Beer. Alcohol in general because it’s fermented sugars. Cheese. Milk. CREAM CHEESE! (Even if it’s the whipped stuff.) Cottage cheese. Coconut oil. [Wait, are you insane, woman? I read my health food articles! Coconut oil is a motherfucking miracle!] Yeah, sure, until you become allergic to it. You will, keto peeps, paleo peeps. Because you don’t know what I know.
No more tomatoes for you! No paprika! No eggplant, no potato, no chilis. Oh, but the flave ah! Sugar is a no-no if you have cancer in your family or you’re sedentary. Let’s face it, you are not going to be able to be a couch potato and a cookie monster. You have to run to eat that shit, my friend. MILES AND MILES.
Starches are for people who expend a ton of calories and energy all the time. As in running 40 miles a week. It’s a lot of miles, innit? You were going to say your two hours a week exercising was enough, weren’t you? Maybe if you’re the ripped guy at Sam’s, but somehow I don’t think he uses up that much carbohydrate. I think he’s a meat guy that loves his protein.
Hey, ripped guy… you need to trim the fat off that steak, yo.
You know how saturated fats clog pipes and drains?
It does that inside your body, too. If you hate yourself, go ahead. Clog your body’s plumbing. Old people everywhere are suffering the consequences of this dietary faux pas.
Fun fact: there’s saturated fat in plant fats, too, but not very much.
Don’t eat the chicken or turkey skin, no matter how crispy it is. It’s a trap, as Admiral Ackbar would gladly tell you.
Acids! They eat your insides!!!!!! DON’T DO IT! You’ll never be the same. I’m facing permanent disability thanks to torching and scorching and melting my insides. Sounds fun, doesn’t it? Totes was… until reality set in and I could only eat apples and pears without severe pain in my abdomen from it passing through. SANDPAPER! Most everything felt like sandpaper going through my guts. In fact, if those fruits were too ripe or too underripe, I suffered greatly. I spent two months that way. Please do that to yourself. It’s a bad way to go… do it the sane way… overdose.
I’m not condoning this form of euthanasia. I think anyone, anywhere should be able to say, “I’m ready. Let me go! I’ll have my last hurrah and then you can shoot me in the arm with whatever happy bye-bye drugs there are!” Ah, but you Christians… YOU LOVE TO RAPE US ALL WITH YOUR IDEAS OF WHAT’S RIGHT AND WRONG!
Suicide is not a sin. It’s just a tragedy.
Especially since only the good people of planet Earth tend to do it to themselves… trying to escape the rest of you motherfuckers who don’t know how to ask permission for a goddamn thing.
Fuck you all.
My gal pal was telling me of her own suicide attempt. It was years ago now, but I cried. My heart broke for her. I understood the exact moment she was telling me that she was raped too many times, her voice stripped from her. Coerced to do things in order to see her biological children. Domestic violence. That’s what the COMPASS web site just referred to that sort of thing as. I signed up for food stamps. I was barely able to feed three with the ones my parents had, stretching them artfully, but now my father’s gone, so I applied solo because my mother is on the rocks, to be perfectly down to Earth on this one. She’s not long for this world.
Anyway, I’m going to call this friend of mine my sister. If ever I had one, she is one. She was telling me she had a bottle of sleeping pills and she was taking them two and three at a time. About halfway through the bottle, her oldest kiddo called her, when the pills were taking effect. Another angel would be gone if her son hadn’t called 911 that night. All because of her ex-asshole raping her endlessly.
This man’s other son, from another mother, who was the same age as my sister’s son, became a drug deal by age 12, to give you an idea of how fucked up living with him is. A real problem child, trying to act out because Daddy’s narcissism was driving him insane. This is just one singular problem in the barrel of hundreds caused by a man I shall call Tony.
I remember I never liked Tony. This happened when our friendship formed, actually, or began to. I never knew and I feel bad that it happened at all. If only we could shoot proven narcissists with empathy guns to make them care about something beyond themselves and their loins, beyond their self-esteem, beyond the need for narcissistic supply. Maybe I can, if I get creative. I’m going to give this a shot. (Pun intended.)
I recall back then — and it was about 2002 — that she told me this man pushed her down the stairs. I didn’t know how to reply yet; I was new to claiming my survivor status. I thought to myself, that’s my dad… he pushed me down the stairs on my 14th birthday. My brother’s BFF, the neighbor kid, went home and grabbed a band-aid to try to be funny to help me get over it. I didn’t want Sheila anywhere near him, but I cannot tell another person what they can and cannot do. That’s not my right. I don’t even know if I tried to warn her that it was not good… you’d think the woman who introduced me to Ms. Ani DiFranco would see it as domestic violence immediately, but I’m sure he was charming her and so she missed it. He put all his effort into keeping her confused so that she would come running, no matter what.
I also remember the day she told me he had sex with her and she wasn’t sure if he used a condom. Very shortly after that, he called her and left a message on her answering machine that pissed her off: “How’s the deposit I made in the bank of Sheila doing?” I remember it very clearly because she’d said it to me mockingly, trying to imitate his voice to some degree. Sounding derpy, to be honest, not that we had that word twenty years ago. Now, I know what to say: Sheila, babe, you been raped. You didn’t consent to having sex without protection and he did it on purpose and admitted it.
I’ve been wanting to tell you this for days now. I’m not sure how to tell you, so… here we are. I love you. I’ll testify for you. I remember these two things so clearly. I also remember you gave me a key chain that said “Get over it” on it. You said you thought I said something like that to you, but I don’t know that I did… so it stood out to me all this time, making these memories permanent — even after my brain mostly erased itself due to malnutrition and starvation (caused by the malnutrition issues.) [Don’t get me wrong; I love food, y’all. I just can’t eat no more. And yup, I just did that double negative thing. SUCK IT.]
I grew up in the Erie ghetto, y’all. East 18th street, about two blocks away from the Projects administration building. You’ll find my vernacular is a mix between that and boring white people talk.
I lived there until I was 11 years old. Then my parents bought a stupid house that’s falling apart and full of musty books that I’ll never read… I’m totally going to trade them in at Books Galore and try to buy books for my reference library needs. I doubt they have anything really good, but I can hope.
I meant to go there today, but I never got my shit together to do that. I have a problem because my insides are still making me want to weep. Of course, that doesn’t appear to be the case when I’m smiling at 1,000 roses in Wegmans. Not that I condone killing flowers off for romance, but… it was already done, so I healed them a little bit.
In fact… A woman asked me yesterday if I was okay as I stood still near the flowers and the bread stuffs, eavesdropping telepathically on someone, somewhere. I was so touched!!!! I totally gave her God’s blessing, which I charge $15 for on Fiverr. For those of you in the city of Erie, I’ll trade healing for food. I just need to eat. I’m supposed to eat the equivalent of one whole broccoli crown, one whole cauliflower crown, one thin steak or chicken breast or something, a cup of fat, two apples, and whatever other vegetables I can force into my poor body. And a handful of nuts.
I can’t eat enough to stay alive, sadly. If you add up the calories of all that, it’s not enough. And I can’t even eat all that every day… probably because something in there, I’m allergic to it! Or, since my AWESOME MOMMY smokes tobacco, which is a nightshade plant, it’s possible that’s my issue. She was supposed to quit… but it was a lie. She does not care about her health, only her finances, so she dug into the closet where we have a large amount of pipe tobacco, and started rolling herself cigarettes without any filters.
What a winner.
She could have my hookah daily, but nah. Let’s not do the thing that’s better for our health! Or cheaper! Or tastier!!!!! Let’s just keep murdering ourselves the same way we always do it!
BRO. $17.00 U.S.D. for a hookah at this web site here. (It was on sale, so I supposed it could be back up to a whopping $25.00 now.) Oh yeah, I can trade hookah shisha for food, too. I don’t need it. I have a bucket of vanilla flavored shisha. I think that ought to be worth a cauliflower or two. (Maybe one, cuz I opened it already.)
I’ll look for other shit to hawk. I have canned food — I can’t eat it. It’s free for the first person to ask me for it. I can’t even get my shit together to take it to Second Harvest Food Bank. I want to… but it’ll take like four car loads to get that shit there, at least. No thanks. I’d rather set up a couple saw horses with a crap piece of wood with a FREE FOOD sign on the side of my house and let y’all vultures have at it. (That’s the Erie way, right? Whatever you don’t want, you put it on the curb!) Good God, do I wish I had the means to go junking and pick up all that awesome furniture! I’d refinish it. It’d give me an excuse not to talk to The Woman(TM). (That’s my mom, for those of you who are trying to follow along.)
Anyway… I applied for SNAP! I’ll probably be denied. I’m also about to get an official allergy test done as well as an intolerance panel. For my lawyer, you see. Shit is about to get real. And if it comes up with tobacco as one of them… I think I’ll get her arrested for endangering my life. AGAIN.
God’s done playing nice with old rapists.
Did you notice in Hungary, they had tornado winds that ripped off roofs and made buildings fall over? Did you see that Turkey had a 7.8 Richter scale earthquake? Now, to be fair, they have a history of serious earthquakes that are 6 and above in magnitude. However, it came out of nowhere, and a ton of buildings have people trapped inside. Thirty three thousand dead so far. And they’re not done. Not even close. People who live in Turkey who were unaffected just sit at their computers like their neighbors aren’t dying under rubble. Now, Turkey is not a tiny place, so I get it… but could you say you’d do nothing if the town nearby toppled in a natural disaster? A suburb perhaps, or the village down the road two miles? Would you sit around and twiddle your fucking thumbs, begging people online to give you jobs so you can donate to the relief efforts?
God doesn’t like that guy.
What’s worse is we tried on two separate occasions to give him work… but he wants to be the boss of the job. He wants to get paid to tell you that you can’t have your vision, you can only have his idea of what your vision is. I don’t foresee him lasting as a freelance coder. He’s absolutely never getting a desk job at a normal business with that attitude. He wasted more time telling me he can’t do the job than if I’d done it myself, since I’m a programmer.
Oh yeah, I can totally tutor for food! Former TSBI grad. Fifteen years in a computer career… I can tell you lots about it. If you think you can’t code just because you don’t “get it” at the Fortis institute, I know I can teach you. I know there were a few things I just never was able to wrap my mind around until about five or seven years after school. I think I can help!
Oh, but I’m autistic, and I’ll only help you at the library on the water front. So be kind or God will kick you in the balls. And then we’ll call the police on you for being a bastard. In fact… let’s not meet in person. Friend me on Discord instead. Fuck it… people suck. Super_Fox#8259.
Anyway.
I’m going back to bed. Fuck everything. My intestines still hurt. # Poisoned By Steak Marinade.
P.S.: I’ll never do it again, but it did taste good. Thank you for your hospitality, Scott & Sheila. I love you both! 🙂
Angel-Sansara 