I don’t want to hear any more god-damned chatter about what we’re going to do today.

Okay Darling?

It doesn’t matter
at all
whether we’re on the road, journeying between Sequim and Salt Lake
or home, in Silver, SandRock, or Salida.

There are exactly two questions that matter,
and that is definitely not one of them.

The two questions that matter are:

• When do we eat, and
• What are we having?

I’ll try to explain this in general terms, and let you draw some inferences about why that trip was such a fucking disaster, and why our lives together often are too.

Begin again. It’s not even important on any given day that we’re eating healthy.

It’s very, very important that we know well in advance that it will happen, and, roughly, when.

It matters some that what we put into our bodies isn’t utter garbage–which probably means that it’s not from a restaurant, but rather prepared with intention and love at “home”, wherever home happens to be that day.

I’ll tell you this much. I am never again in my life going to eat another Eskimo Pie.

And I would be very, very okay if I never ate another In & Out Burger.

Or even another Chipotle bowl.

It’s not that any of those things are healthy or unhealthy exactly.

It’s that ending up eating any of them means that plans haven’t been made–or at least that the half-baked plans that were made Sucked.

No More Suck Plans. That’s the rule now and, sorry, it is Absolute. It is without exception. It is Rule One, every day, for me and for anyone who has some dubious notion that they might want to be with me.

The same goes, kinda, for when we sleep and where and how. But that’s a larger question and a battle for another day.

For this day, Friday the 16th of August, the two eating questions are plenty to take on for a start.

I’m going to be asking them of myself alone in the coming weeks.

For practice.