I've missed some meals, why do you ask?

[kingtycoon]

Something impenetrable today. Something about a forthright basalt, in denial of drills or inquiry. That's the story of moods. I'm prone to them, and no denying, bereft of all but air to breathe I'll have a mood about it. I thought of how I would like to paint and had no canvases for it, I thought of how I'd like to eat and had no food at hand. But in no mood for acquisition. Sometimes I'll lay a trap. Knowing that I'll have no taste for leaving home, what with it being the workplace and the sleepingplace besides - so I'll neglect a sundry of some importance - coffee let, us, say, and then I'll be compelled by needs to go out and fetch it. But today, even that journey (one of sabotage) wasn't a journey, the place, the neighborhood's finally grown familiar - and of familiarity I am to contemptuous to comment. It's true - the novel new enticement is a balm for moods- irrespective of climate. You're aware no doubt - the heady, easy joy found in the banal yet somehow unfamiliar. So there is that - a flailing and faltering process - the search for next-new-best. Not that there's a best - not among days, which traverse the sky and do not heed wishes or wants- depart or come again - those are days, gone. A bit of life is gone, about a third, I'd say, if my appetite for it is all that counts, but every portion was served out in days. Numbered plates, not each or all have been palatable - but certainly sustaining. Certainly that. How else are the courses considered? By spice or tang or welcome savor? It's not metaphor only - to think of a day, enduring and benign, like the languor of whiskey stealing down your throat - enough to awaken you to your parts unknown. These are things held in the teeth, not lightly relinquished. We've had those days, you and I, that we would not willingly allow to leave us that we battled the dawn for in caffeinated frenzies. But I mean not just that, I mean it's the sustenance of the living mind, the experience of moments and time itself is consumed - how strange a thought is that? That we, mortal things, who feast on the beasts and the grasses thereby - we have lives of the mind and these are sustained by the sustenance that days provide. I tell you that I am not sated and that I am not satisfied and want not only for more days but better - bigger portions and don't spare the salt - that's my position. Scribbled out on the comment card, mailed to corporate. Waiting on my complimentary ice-cream, my free dessert, the waitstaff to sing me a song and don't skimp on the clapping.