Dinner

I had a friend one time who told me that he knew a woman was upset when she ate ice cream for dinner.  Directly out of the carton.  I believe he was on to something here.

But what does it mean when you eat ice cream for dinner and drink whisky for dessert?  Also directly out of the container?

There is a kind of tired that goes beyond the physical feeling of exhaustion.  There is a tired that renders a person numb and unfeeling.  That kind of tired goes all the way to the depths of your soul.  Void.  Emotionless.  Hopeless.  Alone.

I think that’s the kind of tired that makes a person eat ice cream for dinner and drink whisky out of the bottle.

I’m wondering if there’s a cure for that feeling?  No amount of sleep offers relief.  No activity can spark a reaction.  No recklessness or pursuit of adventure can create any lasting shred of excitement.  

Nothing but monotony and beige and silence.  

That’s not entirely true, I suppose.  I guess that patience will eventually offer up some sort of new proposition.  But do we take a wild leap and accept that offer?  Or are we so frozen and stuck that we don’t even recognize it?  Or maybe even disregard it completely for reasons we don’t even understand?

I like to be tired.  I like the feeling of sore, fatigued muscles.  I run. I lift weights.  I do yoga.  I do farm chores and garden and cut wood.  I know tired.  Tired quiets the words and ideas that flow in the mind.  Tired makes your bed feel that much softer.  I know tired.

But when I go to bed tonight there won’t be dishes or cups left in my kitchen sink.  There will only be one spoon.