Cooking With One Hand In Pocket

"Have you ever drowned? Not once. But repeatedly. You drown ...save yourself somehow (includes if you had aid of another person) and then drown yourself again. There is a distinct thrill in even thinking about facing death. Staring at the void ...trying to gauge ...which memories will be showing up like they say... Whose faces will turn up...whose voices you will hear... Will you want to stop getting sucked in? Or will you enjoy the paroxysm of transition?" Darn. The water is boiling off. The noodles are getting stuck... Hey...but I don't wanna pull my left hand out of my pocket. The view of a pretentious and closed window above the induction, carelessly oozing out a cool breeze which in turn is fighting with the hot steam exhumed from the frying pan always reassures me that they are waiting outside. Friends. Loved ones. Strangers. Casting their shadows behind my beloved closed window. Sucking my cool breeze. Waiting for me to be only left with the searing flame...until I'm forced to pull my left hand out and open the goddarned window... for them. No! Wake up! I don't have time to knit words out of this burning yarn of noodles! But my hand feels so safe in the snuggly pockets of my childhood bottoms. Oh wait! I can just keep the peg on the side, grab a cup, turn on the tap, waste some water, fill the cup, pour it on the burning noodles slowly meanwhile wasting some more water, keep the cup, close the tap, catch hold of the peg again and pretend I'm Darth Vader trapped in a woman's body with my lightsaber efficient only for flipping noodles. Ah yes. Even the re-establishment of my foothold runs a sweet satisfaction down my spine. This air of freedom ... Can I listen to some Nat Cole King please? Of course I can! Its all there in my head sweetheart... Couldn't raid that place yet, could you? Is the fizz drowning the music? Yes...but that also means I'm nearing the end. A little disturbance to remind you that your time has come? Such wonderful these nuances are! As the smell of vinegar captivates the whole room, I pull my hand out of my pocket to pick up the plate and get out of the kitchen. Only to join the banter of the unwanted.