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The realization that I have lost my ability to wake up in the morning with bursts of energy is quite depressing, the buttermilk pancakes that I got at iHop providing nothing but a bitter memory.
I feel like watching The Sound of Music again, just so that I could sing along with the "I flit, I float, I fleetly flee, I fly .. " part of So Long, Farewell.
So Long, Farewell, my life.
So Long, Farewell, the love of my life.
Sometimes I ponder why I do the things I do - why I use a spoon to eat muffins, why I enjoy eating ice cream with a fork.
Why I still believe that certain dishes are still a delight to eat, despite the fact that I know it's unhealthy for me.
(i.e, Filet-O-ShitFish)
Thank God I have people to keep me in check.
Anywho, I've reverted back to the ways of the past, where I would plate my own dishes and stick with refined dining.
I hope fast food hasn't corrupted my palate.
There's a love-hate relationship between myself and chocolate.
Though many praise its wonders, and question why I do not worship the ground upon which it [drips?] treads, I can't bring myself to love it.
I can't, and I won't.
The Filet-O-Fish I ordered came cold.
I poked at it with a fork, hoping that steam would rise up from the pathetic little cardboard box that they give you .. to no avail.
This is the order in which I eat my Filet-O-Fishies:
1) Remove the bottom layer of bread, in which there should be a piece of cheese, freshly melted, on top.
2) Fold and eat, like a grilled cheese sandwich.
3) Remove the top layer of bread, and proceed to eat it.
4) Chew thoroughly.
5) Rip apart the fish part of the Filet-O-Fish into little fish-stick like chunks, and bite.
However, since I chose to open the bag when I was already halfway towards my house, I didn't want to return and complain. My loss, maybe.
