Earlier tonight I had a piece of food stuck in my teeth–well–in my permanent bottom retainer. You know how food gets stranded in your mouth, the way it hangs in there like a bad relationship, refuses to give up like Cher. You keep digging at the food remnant with your tongue, jabbing at it from all angles, swishing your spit around, hoping. Before long, you’ve got yourself a full-fledged hobby. Anyway, this went on for a couple hours with what I assume was a piece of tuna. Finally, I called for backup in the form of a toothpick, which quickly and easily dislodged the fishy little offender.

A toothpick–now there’s a novel idea.

Speaking of novels, I spent the evening at the library, mostly using the fast internet, but also reading. Earlier this summer I started watching TNT’s television show Will, which is about young, sexy William Shakespeare. Initially I was interested because Shakespeare was–I don’t know–a pretty good writer, but I don’t mind saying I’ve stuck with the series because of the young, sexy part. Anyway, as of today, I had three episodes left to watch, and midway through the second, I hit my mobile hotspot data limit. (When that happens, things slow way down. I can still blog, but video watching is challenging to the point that I start cussing.) So I went to library and finished the series.

Phew. Another item completed. I may have to give myself a gold star.

So I have this fear about undercooked chicken. Maybe I should start by saying I’m not the best in the kitchen–at least if we’re talking about preparing food. I mean, I don’t suck (again, at preparing food), but it’s rare that I don’t end up with a piece of shell in my bowl whenever I crack an egg. Several years ago I heard that you could put a can of beans directly on the stovetop in order to cook them, and I thought this sounded like culinary genius. Also, once while I was cutting up Velveeta cheese to microwave for cheese dip, I had a friend take away my knife because “I was doing it completely wrong.” Clearly, we all have our talents.

Anyway, anyone who can fuck up cheese dip can most certainly fuck up chicken, and I most certainly have on more than one occasion. Of course, if you’ve ever eaten undercooked chicken, you know it ain’t pretty. But what do you do? Obviously, you sit there, moan, and regret.

This may come as a surprise, but sometimes I can be a teensy bit dramatic and make things out to be a bigger deal than they really are. (I’ll give you a moment to get over the shock.) Well, earlier this year I told my sister that I was afraid of undercooking chicken, and she said, “That’s funny, it’s not complicated,” then explained the whole process. I thought, You can do this, Marcus. It’s just a damn bird. Since then, I’m proud to say, things have gone a lot better. Why, I even had chicken (and sweet potatoes and kale) for breakfast today.

Well.

When I left the library I went for a walk, first around a nearby park because there was a guy working out without his shirt on, then around a local neighborhood. Maybe thirty minutes into the walk is when my stomach started cramping. Putting both hands on my belly, I thought, Uh oh–the chicken. Immediately, I began power walking, simultaneously wondering, If I absolutely had to, could I shit in someone’s front yard and not get caught? Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. Actually, when I got to my car and sat down, the cramps got considerably better, so maybe it was just the exercise my stomach didn’t like.

For maybe a couple years I’ve had a book on my Amazon wish list called Spoons Are for Stirring Coffee by Austin Coats. I honestly don’t remember where I first heard about the book, but it’s a memoir about addiction. Several times since adding the book to my list, I’ve thought about reading it. But I’m always reading multiple books at any given time, addiction isn’t one of my favorite topics, and I figured the only reason the book kept catching my eye was because of the clever title. Anyway, for the last several days, I haven’t been able to get the title out of my head. Spoons Are for Stirring Coffee, Spoons Are for Stirring Coffee, Spoons Are for Stirring Coffee. You know how your brain puts stuff on repeat. Well, I’m always asking the universe questions, and I do believe this sort of thing (intuition) is one of the ways it can answer, so I started with Googling the author.

As it turns out, the author is from Fort Smith. That’s weird, I’m from Fort Smith too! Half expecting to hear the theme from The Twilight Zone, I looked around the room for hidden cameras and thought, Fine, you have my attention. I’ll buy the book. So now I’m a couple chapters into it, things are going fine except for the fact that the guy’s addicted to drugs, and I’ll report more later.

For the last hour and a half–the entire time I’ve been blogging–one of the virus scanners on my laptop has been downloading new virus definitions. Apparently it’s been two years since I’ve updated them. (Whoops.) Anyway, I guess the internet is really, really slow, and–oh my god, I’m not kidding–it just finished. That feels good. Another item completed. I may have to give my laptop a gold star.

Way to go, laptop.

As I’ve mentioned before, I have a hangup on completion, a big enough hangup that all my therapist has to do is say, “Completion,” and we can save about thirty minutes of dialogue because we’ve had that conversation so many times it’s not even funny. Still, it keeps coming up, so I guess we’re not completely done with the topic of completion. How’s that for ironic? Honestly, the more I live, I’m not sure that anything is ever done. I mean, I finished a television series today and picked a piece of food out of my teeth tonight after dicking around with it for two hours, but I still have a dozen other shows flagged to watch in my Netflix cue, and I plan to eat again tomorrow. One thing finishes, another starts. And as for why my stomach cramped up earlier or why I thought about buying that book for two years and finally did tonight, I can’t say. Things happen when they happen. But I’m starting to believe that the universe doesn’t hand out gold stars, at least for watching television shows or making cheese dip. If anything, the rewards come for simply braving the kitchen, for being willing to show up here in the first place.