Shopping Experience

I hate Walmart, but I had a couple of gift cards that had to be spent there and I needed a few things since I literally haven't bought any clothes in ten years. People give me clothes, they gain weight and I don't. So I headed out to the Super Center. It wasn't too crowded, I found what I needed, a pair of work jeans with a hammer loop, a Levi denim shirt, and a pair of shoes that felt like they'd be comfortable to work in. Headed to the bank of cash registers. Two lines of ten people each at the two open registers, all of them with shopping carts piled high. After ten minutes I placed my would-be purchases on a display case and left empty handed. Stopped at the library, then at the museum, to help D put away tables and chairs, he said Sunday morning, before the church crowd, was the only time to go. Stopped at Kroger, for whiskey and a pork tenderloin, drove home the long way around, up the creek. A lovely ride. Boosted my spirits after my failed shopping venture. Jesus Dudley Christ (thank you Mac), I can't even go to the fucking Walmart. I almost had an anxiety attack, I was so close to getting some things that I've needed for over a year. Kroger actually carries underwear, it's too expensive but who cares? You can bet I had a running dialog with myself the rest of the day. I do the whole tirade thing very well, it's why I left theater, using temper as a tool. For a few years after that, maybe a decade, I'd go off on a rant, usually about some piece on the radio, usually on a Sunday. A performance piece, actually, to amuse myself and vent whatever might be stored beneath the surface. Not much, anymore; I mostly stand aside and watch, as my friend Joel, the Wittgenstein Plumber, said: "the shit flowing downhill". It's the perfect temp at the house, open a couple of windows and smell the outside. Found another clutch of morels, so I cut some slices of the tenderloin and pounded them out very thin, rolled them up with caramelized shallots, morels, and shaved parmesan. These are really good. Write home about good. Trace through all of history good; and I eat them, dipped in a butter sauce, with my fingers, and feel like I own the world. There might be three or two other people that could claim this spot, but right now, but I think I'm at the top of the heap. Just in terms of something you had eaten recently. Wait, what were we talking about? I certainly notice that I'm more easily confused, what did Sara or D or B mean by what they said. I'll go to my grave not knowing, but these cylinders of authenticity, they cloud the playing field.