scrolling thoughts

Before I say anything, I should warn you that this really is probably not even worth your time to read, as it really pertains to nothing in particular and certainly nothing of any consequence. It's merely a rant that I was having within my own feeble mind at a point when I was trembling with hunger and shortly after I finally ate, before the nutrients entered my bloodstream. I'm not just saying that to try and entice you to read this with some obvious reverse psychology, as you certainly have already presumed, but really just am warning you of the truly irrelevant and purposefulness nature of this description. You may find the beginning interesting but I'm nearly certain that you'll lose all interest about half-way through. And now you still think I'm using reverse psychology only trying to be clever about it, and for all you know I am, but I'm really not and it doesn't matter if you think I am a bit. That being said:


This morning I groggily opened my eyes at 4:30 pm or so(morning is whenever you wake up first on any given day, is it not?) and looked around to an empty house that was much cleaner and neater looking than when I had succumbed to the temptation of sleep around 10 AM, with the little girls roaming in packs, and mom shouting orders at the little wretches. Well they must have cleaned up a bit before they made for Uncle Andy's house this morning. What a relief, they were all gone for the whole night, and no boring hotel tonight, so I can at least have some peace for once.
I really wanted to go back to sleep but my spine was telling me to get up, threatening a steady, dull, throb if I stayed in that same position(lying down) that I had been in for the past 6 hours. Damn spine never lets me be, always have to stand up when I'm sitting or sit up when I'm lying, just to appease the bastard. So I had to get up: spine's orders. I immediately headed for the fridge and cracked open a frosty cold Blue Moon, a rather tasty Wheat Ale, although I can only stand a few of them at a time, too damn sweet, they are. Sipping my new acquisition, I checked my e-mail messages and proceeded to delve back into my book(Crime & Punishment(It's a really fascinating book, humorous as all hell too. I find myself laughing at the ridiculous and sometimes crude and calculating exclamations of the delirious character with every page))
After about half an hour of intent reading, I felt the effects of the now empty beer seeping in through my empty stomach, and began feeling slightly drunk in my exhausted state, and at the same time rather tired, and tempted to ly back down, although I knew my spine would never allow such an action. So I set out to get some caffeine in my empty stomache, rather than nourishment which is what I really needed most, but didn't realized at that moment, and when I did realize it, the whole process just seemd like much too great of a task; too time consuming. As I was searching for the cheap beans, coffee grinder, and strange, old fashioned, two-piece, ceramic coffee percolator device thingy, I was thinking to myself that I'd rather have that miserable starbucks shit that they brew at work than these cheap, stale, old beans that I'm sure to find unsealed in the back of this wretched cabinet, even though I despise starbucks and only support the filthy corporation everytime I sap a cup of the dingy black shit from the hotel where I work. But I couldn't find the damn old beans, and so much the better; it would be easier and quicker, with less to clean(If I use the old fashioned percolator that my parents found in my grandmothers antique shop(although it's not quite an antique but only 30 or 40 years old) I have to wash it out after I'm done with it and dry it and put it back in it's place in the high cabinet above the stove. There's also the possibility of the grinds leaking out onto the counter, or worse still onto the floor, as I take off the top, which will no doubt have plenty of fine grinds stuck to it's interior after the grinding occurs.) than the instant coffee powder that I found instead of the old beans and I filled up the pot with enough water to boil just one cup, heading back to the book and waiting for the whistle.
I heard the whistle approaching, as you usually can if you're listening for it. It started out with strange clicking and knocking sounds, originating within the pot; and eventually, after a minute or so of the clicking, a sound of a sort static radio signal, fluidly blended with trickling water began to emerge from the warming kitchen air. And all of the sudden, although I knew it was coming all along only couldn't pull myself away from the book, I heard the faintest of whistles that fast grew to a loud, high pitched roar, and I ripped myself from the book, mid-sentence, rushing over to extinguish the noise and fix myself some nasty coffee. Why hadn't I just ended on that last paragraph when I heard the clicks turn to static, foolish of me. I wouldn't have had to interrupt such an interesting dialogue at such an inopportune moment. There was even a lull in the conversation after that last paragraph.
I dumped plenty of instant coffee into the steaming water that was now roaming around my mug in a fervently convectant passion. Dumping more powder, or crystals rather, (They weren't quite powder but clearly were at one time powder, only at some point in their production, a machine had decided that they shall not be powder but shall be small, dissolvable crystals, as if powder doesn't dissolve; and some executive had previously decided for that machine that 'you will not let them be powder but they shall be crystals because crystals dissolve'.) into my wet mug than must have been prescribed on the side of the instant coffee container, although I didn't look at the prescription and can't really declare such things with any level of confidence, I again thought of that filthy starbucks brew covetously, and mentally slapped myself for the resentful act.
After fixing my coffee (if you could call it that) the way I like it with a bit of sugar and a good dose of cream, I headed back to my book and set myself back a few paragraphs to get the feel for the conversation before diving right into it headlong, without proper frame of mind for the intense debate that was unfolding before my very mind. The coffee soon was half empty and I thought 'why not add some whisky to this old girl, it tastes rather wretched as it is, old Jimmy surely wouldn't hurt her an ounce'. So I added the whisky and continued with my book and downed the rest of the coffee within a period of 20 minutes or so.
Ten minutes after adding the whisky to my morning beverage the phone rang and it was Jessica and the creep immediately set in talking about feces, and I jumping right with my own sarcastically filthy converse, both of us bringing it to the next level in turns, until we were both repulsed and began talking of more pertinent matters. By the end of the conversation, I was the only one talking, ranting at her much like I am right now, about every peculiar thought that entered my interaction-starved mind, until she was driven to annoyance and disengaged the phone call, leaving me to my own devices in this empty apartment.
So I read a little more but soon began feeling right hungry, and even trembling with hunger, all jittery from the caffeine and alcohol pushed on my stomach that had been empty for the past 12 hours. Although that's not truthful; I had eaten a couple pieces of cheesecake at work about 13 hours ago, so it was only really empty for maybe 11 hours. I decided at once to make a cheeseburger for myself because I needed food quick and they really don't take too long to prepare, my hands were trembling now and I just needed food. The sensible thing to do would have been to immediately devoir a piece of that tasty 12 grain bread, and throw some cheese on it, then drink a glass of milk with haste before feasting on some pretzels while continuing to read the enthralling text, but as it were, I didn't think of these ideas at the time and now am faced with three greasy pans to wash. All for one cheeseburger you ask yourself? Yes indeed, that's how it began.
I got out the cast iron frying pan and upon seeing the rust it had gained due to somebody not drying it after it's being washed, I dumped a heavy portion of oil into it and began wiping away the rust, which rubs right off when oil is applied. Once the rust was gone there was still some oil left in the pan and I couldn't help but think that I shouldn't waste such resources, no matter how meager they may be, so I set out dicing up onions and garlic. I first threw the onions in the pan, then turned up the heat, but realizing that there wasn't enough oil I quickly added more to the contents of the pan. After a minute or so I added the diced garlic to the simmering onions, as garlic cooks faster than onions and I wanted them both to be cooked to the same point and at the same time I wanted the flavors to mingle with each other within the dices and throughout the olive oil. As they were simmering, I began searching for a bowl to mix the meat with the sautéed contents of the frying pan in. Deciding on one I pulled it out, setting it on the counter, then turned to the pan again to give it a quick stir and reduce the heat. Now I opened up the package of ground beef and was about to put it into to bowl but immediately realized that it was far too small for the generous portion of beef I intended to fill it with. So I set down the package of beef, washed my hands(my hands had touched the dead flesh while I was trying to put it in the too-small bowl) and put the bowl back in the cabinet. My hands trembling again, I searched for a bigger bowl and finally spotted the perfect one, under the rest of bowls way in the back of the cabinet. Stretching as far as I could, I struggled to snatch the bowl and eventually freed it from the weight of the rest of the spiteful bowls, still impatiently waiting their turn in the cabinet.
So the meat was now in the bowl, and since it's already in the bowl and the onions aren't yet cooked, why just wait inactively. So I added a good dose of balsamic vinegar to the meat. Then I looked for worchester sauce but couldn't find any so I settled for a dash of A1 steak sauce. then I added a whole array of seasonings, all in a frenzy before the onions and garlic would be done. I added some cumin; crushed red pepper; salt and pepper(freshly ground); a bit of creole seasoning to counter the sweet balsamic flavor; just a dash of oregano, basil, and parsley cause well, why the hell not; and finally some garlic powder because although I'm adding fresh sautéed garlic, I don't think you can really go wrong with more garlic in most cases.
Now the onions & garlic are done and I throw em into the mix and start slushing it all together with a little fork instead of a bigger, serving utensil that would have been more practical but I had thrown practicality out the window when I drank a beer after being awake for only a minute. Once it's all mixed together I'm still not satisfied and I add some sweet barbecue sauce and mix it together. I wish I could taste this to see where we're at but it's raw ground beef, and I'm not quite a carnivore. What the hell I'll add some parm cheese to it just for the fun of it. After seeing the parmesan cheese in the mix, the granular looking cheese makes me think of breadcrumbs and I think I should add some breadcrumbs to this whole ordeal to hold it together when they're cooking, and that's just what I do.
So now my hands are really involved in this playdough-like trash and I'm making a baseball when my phone rings and I frantically drop the baseball into the pool of dead flesh, and it splashes in, losing it's form as I, using my forearm, topple the bottle of dish soap on it's side, it's top end protruding over the sink and squirt a heavy dose into my greasy palm, then turn on the water to the sink, again using my forearm, and frantically clean my hands only to miss the call just as I arrived at the phone. But it's no big deal I call back the caller and settle the business and I'm back in elementary art class in no time. And It's an orange this time, but soon enough the orange transforms into a saucer of sorts and I put it on the plate next to the other one.
Upon realizing that I had no hamburger buns, I decided to make this last patty in the shape of a rectangle, so it would fit nicely between two slices of that tasty 12 grain bread of which I really should have devoured a few pieces by now even while I was preparing this tasty burger, as my fatigue was growing stronger all the time.
With the rectangle in the cold, oiled, pan I had used for the garlic and onions, it suddenly dawned on me that I really should have a vegetable and I searched the freezer for something easy. Perfect. Corn. I took out the frozen corn and another pan, added a good portion of corn to the pan then barely enough water for it to be visible beneath the golden kernels. I set this pan in the back, not yet turning it on for I knew that corn takes almost no time to cook, actually as soon as the water boils you can drain it out and add some butter and salt and put the top back on and wait for the rest of the food to cook, only I'd rather not wait but have it all done at one instant. 'It all?', you say 'but there's only two items'. Well while I was getting the corn ready my mind was already hatching the next step to my plan; that is that I should fry some onions up to put on top of the melted cheese of the burger, and then after the onions were in the pan, 'why not add some baked potato from yesterday in with these here onions, and certainly some garlic as well'. And I even added some of the simmering juice that had crept out of the porous beef patty into the hot pan and was wasting away to nothing under the imposing heat.
And now both frying pans are on, although I had let the onions fry for a bit before anything else, then when I added the potatoes and garlic to the onions I turned on the burger, then when I flipped the burger, I turned on the corn, and as the corn came to a boil and I added the butter and salt after draining the dingy vegetable water, I dropped the bread in the toaster, and while the burger had been cooking, before the corn started up, I had sliced enough cheese for the burger and put the cheese away but then decided that I should put some tasty Vermont cheddar on my potatoes and onions so I got out the cheese again and sliced away more and more slices, then replaced it in the fridge in it's rightful place.
So the potatoes where nicely browned now and I added some hunks of cheddar to the pan, covering it back up and turning the heat up to high for 30 seconds to get the cheese melted before removing the pan from the heat altogether, then I put the cheese on the flipped burger and covered that, turning up the heat fleetingly before removing the pan from it, and I had a few slices of cheese left over so I just threw them into the steaming corn, 'why not', I thought, 'I like cheese'.
When I finally got the chance to feed my weak body, an hour after I had started cooking this "quick meal of a cheeseburger", I felt triumphant and proud of the feast before me, all dripping with melting, oozing cheddar cheese. It really wasn't particularly tasty, in fact I think that I muddled up the spices to the cheeseburger quite thoroughly, but it was very satisfying just knowing that I had cooked this meal to my exact specifications, with every whim along the way, something that could never be accomplished at any restaurant, no matter how reputable the establishment may or may not be. The main problem though, with the burger wasn't so much the spices, that weren't exactly perfect themselves, as the consistency of the beef. The consistency of the meat was far to rough, not refined to my liking, but I could blame that on my parents for they're the ones who bought the 80% lean ground beef. Although I can't fault them at all really, because without them there would have been no meal, or bread to ravage for that matter. They had purchased everything from the potatoes to the garlic to the wheat ale, of which I was on my second, and really disgusted with it's tiring taste at that point. And worst of all I knew that I'd drink the other two in the fridge like some kind of filthy fene, seething for more. I couldn't quite finish my meal, there was a bit of everything left on my plate, and I fed it all to molly from my plate on the floor, but I quickly scarfed down the last of the corn cause I don't think dogs really need corn in their bellies. In conclusion I'd say that the tastiest item was the cheesy potatoes with onions and garlic, which had been seasoned with Creole seasoning, a detail I failed to mention previously.

So, are you disappointed at having wasted the last ten minutes of your life reading this nonsense that scrolls through my mind, oh well, you were warned. But I do genuinely believe that at least someone will find it amusing, otherwise, why post it on the internet? That was just a snapshot of the erroneous thoughts that enter my head on a daily basis. I know these thoughts are obscure and wasteful but I think of them anyway, and they will certainly continue to dance by my psyche; and now perhaps you can see why I sometimes seem to laugh at nothing at all or sit in a corner with a wry smile on my lips.