GirlChat #727372
Until a few months ago, I would eat ice cream twice daily with the occasional third, due to an especially passionate intensity. Such exposure to dopamine/endorphin is biochemically impossible for mere moral humans to endure without physical death, yet here I am testifying to my life-long addiction to just that. Heroin nor Crack cannot compare.
I knew that, eventually, I was going to "age out" of my youthful exuberance for ice cream and I actually feared that time. I felt that once the clock struck that hour, I would be in mourning for what I was going to lose. I am ready for mourning, I suppose. I find that a delicious bowl of my favorite ice cream seems to be what comes my way only several times per week. I sit at the table and admire the menu selection only to find the time and inclination to be rather empty of intent, and then such a stupid me gets up and walks out to do the laundry, despondently distracted. What? Shall I die now? Should I pity that poor part of me that can no longer make intense demands of me? It's not that I cannot appreciate the daily joy; but, rather, I don't want to. And it is that which is killing me. I wonder how the walnut will respond? Enlarge? Cancer? I am fortunate in that, as an artist, I can still admire the world of beauty. A remnant of days gone past? Perhaps I should consider a medical remedy; but how to approach the topic with my family physician... who just happens to be a very beautiful female? |