Friday, February 11, 2011

In Which I Discover My Inner Vegecidal Demons

Well, another Friday, another self-shattering realization of the sick blackness that lies within me.

A short while ago, I was congratulating myself for saving a bunch of celery that I had purchased last night, but had somehow forgotten to properly refrigerate upon arriving home. (I had stopped at the pub briefly after shopping, and unfortunately, once I get a couple of beers down my gullet, my sense of responsibility with respect to proper vegetable care goes out the window. It’s not something I’m proud of ... quit judging me.) I was reminded of my negligence this morning, when I opened my backpack to the sad sight of spiritless stalks, lying limp and listless, languishing in what, for harvested greens, must be the climatal (I’m not sure of the adjective form of “climate”) climatory* equivalence of the very fires of hell.

After a brief moment of panic, I regained my composure, and calmly recalled the USDA-approved protocol prescribed in such situations, which, in its entirety, reads: “Put celery in water.” I accomplished this with great alacrity, and complimented myself on my ability to keep my wits about me under such dire circumstances. “Truly,” I spoke aloud, firmly and proudly. “I am no less than a Life Giving God, a Savior unto the simple stalks, a Benevolent and Righteous Rejuvenator.”

And with a strong sense of self and worth, I donned my coat and gloves, and headed off to work. The end.

Except it wasn’t the end … the ride into work, while not long, is quite peaceful, and lends itself to the sort of self-reflection not otherwise attainable in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. It was on the ride that I began to ponder what it was that made me forget that the celery was in my backpack in the first place. After all, there were no earth-shaking events occurring in my life that would distract me, no thoughts so important as to monopolize my attention to the point of vegetative neglect. What, then? What?

Could it be that some hideous aspect of my subconscious caused me to intentionally leave it out overnight, thereby creating the opportunity for my morning heroics? Do I so need that affirmation that I would do harm to innocent food just so that I could then save it? Am I suffering from some strange variant of M√ľnchausen Syndrome by Proxy? What kind of sick monster am I?

And so has my day gone**, bringing yet another discovery of the malignance that resides in my soul. Perhaps this recognition will be a step toward redemption, but who knows? I want to be good … I want to do the right thing, but I'm so afraid of what I might really be, deep down at my very core. I’m out of radishes and cucumbers, too … maybe shopping tonight will be the first leg of a journey toward recovery. Give me strength.

* Thanks Niamh B!
** I also forgot to get milk last night, so I had to have my Cheerios dry this morning. Bad day all around.

5 comments:

Niamh B said...

At least you didn't sink to having water with the cheerios, you still have that to hang on to.

I'd have gone with climatory, but I'm no expert

The Dead Acorn said...

Edited for adjectival correctness ... thanks!

I hope I'm never at a point where I would put water on Cheerios. This morning, I was also out of vodka, so dry it was.

Niamh B said...

Beer just occurred to me as another possibility, glad to have been of service.

P77 said...

You bought celery?

The Dead Acorn said...

I would have stolen it from your garden, but it was bare. You're not much of a neighbor in that regard.