This intermittent twitch in my bowels is probably just a symptom of existential wage-slave malaise. I keep telling myself that, and yet I can't escape the nagging concern that it might be bad milk. When I poured the milk in my coffee today, a few semi-congealed blobs lingered on the top. They dissipated when prodded with a coffee stirrer, but you're not supposed to see blobs when you pour milk! Are you? How I can have reached 27 years of age without having developed the ability to discern good milk from bad?
This morning I was late to work, so I ran out without eating my customary instant oatmeal breakfast. I was forced to raid the bag lunch Az. made me last night (in midst a manic frenzy best left unexplained in these pages.) I pulled a piece of cantaloupe out of the bag, left over from our picnic in Tilden Park. I took a bite. Passable-- not as sweet as it could be. To enhance the eating sensation, I imagined I'd just bought the cantaloupe for $100 in Tokyo. I took another bite. Rather than improving the taste, it just pissed me off. I couldn't believe I paid $100 for this shitty cantaloupe. Perhaps the twitch in my bowels had already begun.