giving in to reckless desire

I'm waking up. Sweating. I've obviously been dreaming about something truly horrible. I click my phone. it's 10:37 PM. The last time I remember checking the time was when I was txting Almon. That was around 9:30. I've been asleep for about an hour. I'm still recovering from whatever neural mayhem my brain was suffering from. I start to grip reality. And as I do, I realize there's only one thing I want in the entire world:   a   s m o o t h i e . 


In 3-4 willful bounds I'm out of my room. I glide down the stairs with the finesse of some olympic figure skater. The dining room is a big blur of chipped paint and brick hearth. Here I am in the kitchen. Deep breath.

What follows may not be suitable for small children. Or democrats.

Recon first. Into the fridge. Yogurt. Check. Milk. Check. OJ. CheckJ. Fresh blueberries. Fresh check. Banana. Elongated yellow check. Let's get it yo.

Now I'm sprawled out on the counter. A single, clean 8oz glass sits sparkling in front of me. I assume my position over the vessel, dumping buckets of strawberry yogurt, pouring milk and orange juice together at the same time, creating a dairy/fruit vortex. The vortex to end all vortexes. And here I go a-mixing. But this is no sissy-mixer you're blogging with. I go hard. Several hundred arm-exhausting stirring motions later, I need to relax. A convalescence in between liquid-mixing and fruit tossing ensures accurate and even distribution.

I'm at it again. Blueberries are diving off my fingertips, like tourists at the beach resorting to five-year old antics. There's a lot of shoving, arm-flailing, screaming, chortling (yeah, blueberries chortle). It's a frenzy.

Now, I don't mean to brag, but I could probably win the Nobel f*cking prize for banana chopping. I'm like a samurai or something, from some ancient Japanese kingdom. Where fruit is a lifestyle. "フルーツは生活様式である".* Ninja shit. my blade is barely visible. With as much brevity and force as Ghenkis Khan defeats armies, I slay bananas.

It's over. The fruity-licious dust settles. We move in slow motion, the smoothie and I. Like the scene in Pearl Harbor when Rafe and Danny fly in after shooting down all those Zeros. I'm pretty sure I'm hyper-ventilating. Which looks like regular breathing when done in slow motion.  I've done it. I've created a masterpiece. I've forgotten all about my horrible dream. In fact, for a moment, I've forgotten all life's problems. I'm just sitting here. in the dark, indulging. It's a perfect, fruity instant. I know it won't last. I know tomorrow my poop will be really loose. But right now, in my immediate universe... I'm happy. Goodnight, world.

*"The fruit is a life format" #BadTranslation