Hotpot

Henry does resemble me, and I resemble Henry; but on the other hand I am not Henry. You know, I pay income tax; Henry pays no income tax. And bats come over and they stall in my hair—and fuck them, I’m not Henry; Henry doesn’t have any bats.

– John Berryman, in an interview with John Plotz

 

This morning I took breakfast for the first time in (believe it) days. Staking out a booth in the back of the cafeteria, I nibbled in a greasy, undercooked egg and bacon sandwich and watched the breakfast lines expand and shrink. A glazed donut was there too, but I’m afraid it went to waste. The eggs were actually pretty okay for being liquid eggs – not presently, but in a past life. They were reasonably firm when I ate them. After sitting with my food and drink for a moment, I saw the young woman who came to see one of the professors yesterday while I was at work. Her hair was well-conditioned and curly. Her wide-legged pants flapped in an invisible gust of wind. She must be the kind of person people describe as magnetic. I’m sure people tell her that, were she an animal, she would be a kitten with a velveteen bow or something else that is likely to be adequately petted. I wondered if she ever got in touch with the professor. She was really very polite.

I fell into a trap shortly thereafter when I called my grandmother and tried to explain my upcoming lunch. We’re doing this end-of-the-semester celebration sort of thing and the teacher is bringing an excellent hotpot for us to eat. This means some nice, warm vegetable broth with more vegetables cooked inside (if I’m not mistaken). We will be drinking green tea. However, I didn’t realize that when I told my grandmother all of this, it would take a lot of extra explaining to make it clear that hotpot is not an illegal substance.

 

That just about brings me up to now. Today looks like a lazy kind of day, and I hope it stays that way.

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