Stream of Conscious

The purpose of stream of conscious is not to edit the thoughts rushing through. Thus I have written it raw and untouched.

*

Holy shit.

That is the first thing that entered my mind as soon as I draped my purse over the back of a single chair…in my new, but bare loft.

Holy shit. Where did the time go?

That is the second.

There are some things I know, as of now.

One.

I am standing in the kitchen of in a rather chic yet empty loft, which is more or less half mine. To my right is a glass of cabernet sauvignon. A rather big cab. Meaty but with a hint of gooseberry and vanilla. I could eat this wine for dinner. And if I pivot to my left, consequently, there are two open cardboard containers beckoning my fork into their cavities only to extract little baby squash shaped like miniature Chinese lanterns.

Subdued munch noises are echoing off the brick walls of my new home and I can tell you I’m not sure if I’m even hungry at this point…in fact I know I’m not…but I’m sitting here, devouring these veggies like some rabid bunny or rodent because I need to distract myself from what just occurred an hour ago.

If my father were here, presence in kitchen, he would tell me to stop eating standing up.

I am multi tasking over my baby MacBook, gnawing on roasted vegetables and typing, only to grab the class of cab after I swallow.

I think he would also ask why I am eating them cold.

Because I like them that way, dad, ok? Maybe I don’t want to eat them all mushy and re-warmed via microwave. Maybe I WANT to eat them cold.

But he’s not here

And I can do whatever I want.

Because I am alone. I am living on my own. I am “grown up.”

And what better way to drive that home than be employed.

Because what just happened an hour ago is I was hired at an award winning, nationally (and perhaps internationally) acclaimed restaurant.

And I think I’m about to regurgitate everything in my stomach.

*

Where did the time go?

Now this time last year and of 3 years or so past I would be packed and ready to go back to Denison. Leaving a few things behind I didn’t need quite yet because it was still warm out or because I knew my parents were only 2 hours away and would find any excuse to drive up and see me.

They are still two hours away

But I am not at school

I am in a new home.

*

Becca is at work and I am alone.

And I thought to myself “Wow I am SO PROUD of me! I drove here all by myself. I got a job in a virtually un-hirable city. GO ME!”

Not.

What is really running like adrenaline through my mind now is “Do I deserve this?”

“What the hell am I doing?”

And those movies and TV shows play over and over in my head with the same lines “Yeah, she/he is 22 and still living with her parents. What a loser.”

I am that loser…or was.

But why did I get this job? Because I happened to be friends with the chef? Because my family is “family” to the Michael Symon triple threat ?

Did I do this on my own?

Is this what I want?

*

My glass of wine is almost empty. Legs in rivulets down the circumference of the bowl of the glass. That is how I know it is a big one.

I’m thinking it’s a horrible idea to drink in my state of mind

Or an excellent idea

Maybe I should eat more veggies. Four yellow and 4 green left…even number…No that’s OCD I need to eat a green one for good measure…to offset the balance.

There is something comforting and creamy cold in left over’s unheated.

*

the truth is…

I

Am

Terrified

I remember the feeling I used to get before I had to go back to school. I became used to being with my family every day…I was used to them being in the palm of my hand or the brush of my fingertips…but there was that solace warm and rushing down the back of my throat that I was going to come back...that they were my home…during breaks and in the summer I would come back.

This is permanent.

*

“It really did light up the room. I looked the other way and still saw it.”

He is talking about my smile.

This is what I will miss about small town restaurants...about Zinc...I will miss him…and all of them.

“It was a smile I could feel. Those are the best. I’m enchanted.”

And I’m thinking he works harder than I do. They all do…make Zinc what it is and why I’m clinging on to it...dangling over the edge of the real world by one finger, one moment, or a thousand in one night.

*

But do I not want to leave home because it’s comfortable or because it’s where I belong?

But that is how it is…isn’t it? We cleave onto things we are used to…that we are comfortable with…cleave onto them like a raw egg on the inside of its shell, stubborn and clinging on in translucent drips against the grain of the perforated shell.