In the quiet, in the calm. That’s where I’m most at home. A world without sound would be a prison, but a world engulfed by furor and frenzy is no different. Have you ever felt disconnected from reality while simultaneously plowing right through it? Have you ever become a mindless drone? A robot? A synthetic man or woman?
Of course not. But we’ve all felt that way. The buzz, the hum, the undercurrent of life pulsating on the streets and echoing in our ears. Sound is a marvelous thing. Silence is a rarity. Some people are afraid of it, but it’s not the silence they fear so much as what they’ll hear in its presence: their own voice, their own thoughts.
What am I talking about? How does this relate to Oreo cheesecake? That’s the way my blogging life has developed, unfortunately. At it’s earliest, I think, my blog existed for the sake of other people. Not in its entirety—I enjoyed expressing myself, of course. But I never enjoyed self-expression so much as I enjoyed sharing that expression with others. Food seems to be a great equalizer among people, and eating is necessary for life. Yes, truly stunning revelations, I know.
But to answer my own question: eating makes use of my senses. I can taste, I can feel, and I can hear. Have you ever wished that you could eat something without washing your ears in the sound of your own mastication? Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. The crunch of potato chips, the slurping of soup, and the chewing, chewing, chewing…
…of bubblegum? I don’t know.
I’ve realized in the past few days that I complain a lot. Why do I complain? Well, I’ve also realized in the past few days that life is filled with disorder. No, really. That’s perhaps the best definition of life that I can provide. No, wait. I can amend that a bit: life is synonymous with disorder and decay.
Groan. I feel powerless in so many respects that I cling to what few minuscule iotas of control I can reasonably exert: cleanliness, orderliness, punctuality (questionable, but I’ll let it stand), efficiency, tactfulness, brevity, frugality, and exclusivity.
Naturally, as I cling to what I can, I complain. But my complaints are only thinly veiled lamentations about how I wish everything else would fall into line with my sensibilities, and my lamentations are aggravated by the fact that those few iotas I do control are woefully mismanaged.
Perhaps I should digress, but no. Here, in the quiet, in the stillness of thought, albeit with fingers typing and clock ticking, I think I’ve found my point. Most people write about a point and come to some conclusion. I sort of do it backward(s).
On a professional level, food preparation is insane. I don’t get it, but I do like it. Especially, I’m drawn to photography of rich, lustfully luxurious pastries, as well as vibrant, fresh, succulent, steaming vegetables and tender cuts of gum-achingly good meat, its fleshy flavor seeping from every juicy crevice.
Really though, all I’m getting at is that the consumption of food tends to jumpstart my literary creativity. Or, more often, put me in a starch-induced coma for the night. However, with enough coffee and self-loathing I can usually make it past my email inbox, IMDb.com, and ultimately to Pages. For years, I used to write in MS Word, followed by a brief college stint of using OpenOffice.Org, but now I own and embrace one third of Apple’s outstanding productivity suite known as iWork ’09.
Really, if you own a Mac but don’t have Pages, you disgust me. But don’t feel bad—I’ve only had Pages since the beginning of this year. So yeah, I’ve been disgusting myself for years. No surprise there.
I was hoping this particular post might serve to explain what I’ve been up to this year, where I’m presently working, where I hope to be living in the near future, and how greatly God has blessed me in all of those areas. Unfortunately, my self-loathing can only carry this weary body so far before the eyelids droop (didn’t get my coffee).
I depart now so that I may pleasantly succumb to soundless sleep. My dreams aren’t always peaceful, but they are at least quiet.