I am here. Here I am. Today is a new day. I’m thinking about everything and it’s too much. I have a lot to be excited about and I have a number of things causing some compression that feels very restricting. I like to keep in mind that everything cannot happen all at once and this is a good thing!

Despite my resistance to writing more in-depth about my experiences at this time, I do want to acknowledge that I am learning a lot. It’s a coming together of the old ways, the my ways, potential ways and the paths to exploring new directions or taking the time to explore the full space of where I am. I don’t know why there’s always this sense of wanting to always be moving, yet also wanting to do nothing and find contentment in where I am. I am aware that more practice and time spent on the latter is often how I am able to move myself with less physical effort.

Writing at night is a nice practice, but sometimes I can’t really tell if I’m making sense. I guess it doesn’t matter if it seemed to make sense at the time. Conversely, things can also not make sense at the time and make more sense later. That’s life in a nutshell. Who cares about making sense all the time, unless we’re actually talking about making sense as in feeling.

Everyday I’m here and I think I’m living, but everyday, a lot of living this way we do is incomprehensible. All of the things that are in my way are rising to the surface. It feels frustrating and negative.

I just saw a post about a cereal bar. Why? Why, should people put clothes on to go eat cereal not in front of a TV in a dark room? That’s the comfort and joy of cereal. The markup must be amazing on that business. And, what about the sounds of the whole experience? Opening the box. Wrestling with that plastic bag. The sound of the cereal hitting the bowl. Opening the milk container and pouring it over the cereal in a swirling motion or from high above or teetering over the side of the bowl. Delving the spoon through to scoop up that first bite. Reading the box, and crunching so loudly, you don’t even know what you’re reading. Transported. I guess there is something meditative about the experience. You’ve definitely reached a new state since you began the ritual. I understand, there’s something grounding and delightful about eating cereal, but I haven’t imagined the option of eating cereal in community with strangers. And, being so exposed while experiencing what has always felt like private time to myself. It’s why God made cereal so crunchy. So that it just makes sense to everyone that it’s okay and righteous to do some things, some meal alone whether anyone else is present or not.

An evil thought pops into my head that goes something like this: I guess it was only a matter of time before we exhausted other parts of the world of all the superfoods and now it’s time to exploit and drive up the prices on the most affordable American foods, so that people who rely this food as a staple can no longer afford it…

On a more positive and potentially lucrative note, just think about what this means — smack ramen and tater to bars. Ten years from now, someone will be studying these businesses and will potentially want to hypothesize this new weird breed of businesses as spawning from the legalization of marijuana. #munchies #marketing. Right now, if someone besides me is reading this, what I’m making up on this page right now is a valid opportunity to cater to a new market. It would be such a fun job to map that customer journey and create the various customer profiles.

Okay, I gotta go. Sorry for the weird, not so uplifting attitude. I don’t think I intend to be mean-spirited or judgmental. Moreso, just an impromptu examination of something I do not understand that started off entertaining and was brought into the realm of absurdity by me. I don’t regret it and I enjoyed letting this comedic assessment come through. It made me laugh and then think. And, something about that feels different in a way that feels like success.

Everything is horribly hilarious and terrifically terrible.

Absurdly and completely,

Laura