When you live alone it’s fucking hard to grocery shop. It’s hard to get excited because the cycle is always the same. I look up recipes - get excited - shop - make the dish - and am repulsed the second day.

Lesson: Look up the recipes. Get excited. Go shopping. Make the dish. After, get a gallon freezer safe Ziploc bag - scribble with a sharpie what it is and the date it was made. Freeze the second have or 2/3 or the whole thing. Maybe it’s a way of avoiding… or maybe it is finding the grey area in a small way.

Compromise in the form of a freezer.

Maybe in a way it feels like I am looking out for my future self.

I can see her. Completely autonomous - like she is a distant acquaintance. It feels easier to take care of her. She doesn’t feel like me. I envision her in the almost sterile white kitchen accented by brass hardware - the warmth only comes from the natural wood grain trailing the floor and luminescent under-cabinet lighting. She’s alone and the noise of the city swooshing by her window is the only sound wafting through the empty apartment. Obligation to eat…. she starts scavenging through cabinets. She heats up the pre-frozen comfort food… nourishment. I know it won’t solve what ever emptiness I sense in the scene but it’s one thing I can do …

One choice I can make.

Comfort.