This afternoon I ate like a monk. An astronaut. A prisoner.
I calmed myself down, slowed my breakthing, selected the pot. I opened up the can of tomato soup reminding myself of the sacrcity of this, in deep space. I marvelled at how effective the artificial gravity was, keeping the flame low as the pot warmed on the luxurious four burner stove. Gas. I remember when I could only find electric. I adjusted the flame down.
The one can of water I stirred in came from the two gallon canister on the counter, next to the rotating spice rack. I have it all. I selected a wooden spoon, no put that back. I selected a plastic ladle from the selection. I stirred gently, removed it and placed it on a paper towel.
I walked slowly to the living room and sat at the piano. I played with two hands remembering that I type so much that I have to force my fingers to work more than one at a time. I stretched them. I played a major scale in C, boring. I returned to the kitchen. The soup was ready.
I selected a bowl from the cabinet on the East wall. It was not Borky sized, but more appropriate to lunch - my midday half meal. I ladled out several until the bowl was 75% capacity and took it to the wooden table. It's quiet downstairs.
I took my time with each spoonful, the temperature was perfect - I never had to blow. The scrim of red liquid contrast against the white porcelain as the level of soup went down. I counted. At 13, it seemed that I had an infinite amount and that the meal would last an eternity, and so it became my last meal. I would savor every moment and enjoy every bit of pleasure that can come from tomato soup. By this time, that amount seemed to be more than I deserved; I was going to die after the last spoon. I couldn't be more satisfied.
My eyes glanced aross the table to the folded bag of Doritos. I ignored them. I was eating my soup and there was nothing else in the world save me and this time with it. At 36 I started eating faster and forced myself to slow down. Don't lose count. Breathe. This is a perfect meal. I can do this for the rest of my life.
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