Rants 4 and 5,6 for today

After a rather nice morning stroll through the forest, a few thoughts rants and stories writen I sat down for a rather yummy breakfast. food for thought, or food to fuel a new rant of mine. Here I will continue my goal for today to write 10 short thoughs, roughtly around 600 words each enough to pose an argument, or enough space to ramble on. So far today I have writen three and have added a few of my resent favourites to the last post. Why not celebrate something I am proud of by reblogging? It is not as though reading it again will me ash in your mouth.

 

title: editing my essays

After breakfast things move slow, I had so much ambition to get things done today and yet I am stuck in this pit of like whatever, what is the point of carrying on. I am trying to stay focused trying to reach the seemingly unreachable. somemethods I have for writting is writng the same paragraph over and over again until it is somehow better and all the cluncky parts just fizzle out. This method I used a lot in high school, with the essays I had to write. I would write out the essay and then just right the same paragraph over and over again until it bought on its own sort of magical light. This proved useful as my teacher really liked the paragraphs that I had written again and again. A way to fix things but without putting too much thought into it.

This has proved much more tediuse with longer writings, as writing ten times the amount of paragraphs that a piece of writing will have, can be a process. But I feel as though at some point that I will have to do this if I want to bring my rambles into something more readable. though at the momemnt I like the mix of ramble to something more consise. Maybe this will be my style of writing? maybe this is how I will get things done? maybe this is a good thing, to not follow the rules that have been set out infront of me.

Title: split bill

Where was  I something about pork? I really don’t like shredded ham on pizza, so many times as a child I have had shredded ham. And felt bloated and not well. I think good food should leave you feeling well and happy like the delicious nepalise food I had last night and there was a split bill that we had last night and I don’t think we handled it the best when the cashier started to get confused. I think he had a learning disability and I have been in that situation as a cashier when I add something up wrong and then struggle to do basic math because my brain has turned to jelly. I wanted to solve it and make it simple for him, but so did my friends and that didn’t help the cashier with us all talking at once. I am thinking that a good way to not only solve it but to make it a less stressful situation for the cashier would be to make everyone take a break. “okay this will take a moment to sort out, but before we do that lets take a break. The lovely gentelman was nice enough to let us split the bill for the nice meal we have had. ” “friend, would you like to tell me your method of bill splitting so then we can repeat it nice and calmly to the lovely gentelman who is letting us split the bill?” then we would discuss my friends method, I would add whatever points. and with our organised method My friend would relay it back to the cashier. And done. Less stress, everyone happy, If only split bills worked that easily.

Title: I am but a simple milk maiden

I sat there crying my eyes out, what did I know about vampires? what did I know about the demans that lurk at night. I was but a simple milk maiden. An a-sexual, simple, milk maiden. who knew so little of the word, but had high speed internet to search up cake recipies. So I was a cake conasure, a-sexual, simple, milk maiden. Did I mention that I dressed super femme. I was but a simple a sexual, super femme, cake conassure milk maiden. who knew so little about vampiers. And yet I had been called into the town this evening asked to battle the undead. how did they come to the conclustion that I – but a simple  a-sexual, super femme, cake conassure milk maiden. who knew so little about vampiers. – To fight the undead. So I walked into town, carring a wooden pole thinggy that I carry to hold milk with. And placed it down in the town square, I gave the milk to the shop keepers who handed me coins in exchange. I then walked into the town square where people where gathering, many faces. There she is! I heard voices say. and wispering amongst the crowd. Come here, step to the front young lady where we can all see you.

I stood on the stage and looked around, it seemed like everyone in town and the sourrounding farms had gathered, this was more people than I had seen at the town dance last summer where I felt the happiest I had ever felt with my pink and purple dress, laying down in the hay with friends for a rest after so much dancing and giggling. Young lady we have some questions for you. I was so confused, I had never been the centre of attention even amongst my small ground of friends. As I was but a simple  a-sexual, super femme, cake connoisseur milk maiden. who knew so little about vampires. 

And so I stood there looking bashful at the many onlookers. Young child we have gathered here today as there has been some concern with the vampires that live over the far hill. They do not normally bother us, but something recently has given us great concern. Young child, the mayor of the town, held my hand. And then with his other pointed at the wall behind us, the old stone wall, that had stood the test of time, most likely build when people first settled in this area. On the bricks carved into the stone and then painted read in the carvings was: We want to speak to the Milk Maiden, regards the vampires!

This was pretty clear as I was the only milk maiden in the village that they would want to speak to me. But why? I told the townfolk that I did not know what this was about and that  I was but a simple  a-sexual, super femme, cake connoisseur milk maiden. who knew so little about vampires. But from the mutterings and chatter it seemed clear that whatever this was about they wanted me to fix it.

 

 

a cure for everything.

I could not it out. for a long time I would become obsessed with a particular mirical fruit food or activity to get me out of a slump, feel refreshed or help me with a problem. And it would work! It would work so very well that I would rush to the kitchen and pour my third bowl of beans, or glass or apple juice or whatever food I was swooning over. I would shop double or triple that week, making sure my shelves are full of that one particular item. And for a time I would live in bliss.

Then a few weeks later when I am getting stomach pains from drinking to much apple juice, and when to pee for the forth time today. That mirical power that the juice gave me to stay focused and on track, does not work. I remain low on energy, I can barely leave the couch. Have I built up a tolerance? This was always my line of thinking. or maybe I am missing something else in my diet.

I am healthy, fit. Why don’t I have the energy to do much else with my day? This had puzzled me for so long. Until…

Until I realized it was all in my head, 40% physical, 60% mental. without knowing, I was the one holding me back, taking away my energy. I had never said to myself that I could and that I can. So my mind assumed that I could not. This placebo effect I had placed on the food I eat, was something I had control over. And so, when I poured myself a glass of juice. I said to myself loud and clear.

“this juice will give me the energy I need for my day!”

Title: If I were a menu item, what would I be?

If I was a menu item I would be an entrée of Nepalese Momos.

I like to think of food as a stage production the warm up act (entrée), followed by the ‘Main’ show.

As Entrée I am the first act for this lovely evening.

Though I’m not just a ‘warm’ up act, I’m better fried.

I was born for this role tonight,

From your very first bite, I am simply a delight.

Giggle at my name, I am here to put other dumplings to shame,

I am Cleaver, simple I’d agree,

Mince chicken, red onion, coriander,

but tasteless? I say Never!

Like any good host I make sure to greet all my seated guest before the main act

See me dance from table to table as I am offered around the room.

Finally I make my way to yours,

Smelling green chilli, ginger, garlic

good service is no fable,

“Call  me Momo, I say” I’ll be your Entrée for this evening. “Momo is my name, and flavour is my game.”

Is that an accent you hear. I say “ah what a keen ear.”

“I was born in the back room over there, but I have a rich history elsewhere,

with turmeric, cumin spilling flavours  of the  south east Asian mountains,

ideas all the way from Nepal,.”

Admiring me now stuffed in a neat  wonton jacket ,

Filled to delight, at the start of your night,

Good on my own better with a sauce, but you know that of course.

Why do I want to be an entrée you say?

The first on stage, the fresh crowd, heighten the excitement, set the mood for the night.

After me you know you are in for a good evening.

I am class, an art piece each part of me shaped to be admired

I have a few jokes up my sleeve; don’t be alarmed, I’m 100% good taste,

An so I take my bow with your final bite,

too you and your company, I bid you a good night.

a taste just enough to have the wanting more.

Who knows this humble entrée might make an encore.

After 10pm

Title: Up late at the hippie convent.

I like this place, they have good food, an alacrt menu. And yeah everyone is volunteers, it sounds amazing, I do like that I can find a seat easily. I want to chat about it but at the same time, I don’t like sharing to much as I think it will get ruined maybe… maybe not. Which would be a good thing as it is so easy for my friends and I to get to.

Afrter diner, we sat down on the slopping grass, listened to sheep baa, and watched as hundreds of bats flew over. There were people playing hand drums that have a nice watery sound that I heard a lot in india and other intereremets with one dude dancing to a different beat in his head. I hippie wearing a seahorse around his neck came by and sat down near us. We all chatted for a bit, then he brought up the subject of  drugs.

For me, I am okay with other people taking acid, shrooms, extacy and smoking weed. But none of that is for me, I have even stopped drinking recently, I don’t know. Drugs don’t take me to where I want to be, they take me to somewhere sad where I can’t find my way out until it is over. I am a happy idervidual, and drugs do not boost my experience. Even alcohol which I enjoyed on long afternoons chilling with friends, does not have that same effect on me anymore. Maybe I am getting older? Maybe the last parts of my mind are trying feebly to stay sane. Either way, I am okay with the recreational drug culture with social drug use. But it is my choice to say no, every time.

Title: Tears to fall from dry eyes.

We went our separate ways, me ignoring you, you not texting.

But tonight you had to message me, and I did not like it,

I am not ignoring you because I want to be mean, it is every time we hang you get weird,

You are a downer to everything positive I suggest doing, you send me nasty message if I don’t reply when I am at work or school, I am busy sometimes, and you did not understand.

We had very little in common besides sex, Sex is great don’t get me wrong, but if I don’t like you as a person, it is hard to get wet.

And so tonight I will not reply to your text, I will not feel sorry or bad,

My eyes are dry, as tears for you I have never had.