Skip to main content

Egg

Into the poorly lit kitchen I go. Right into the trash heap, that's right. Senseless, trying to keep these counters clean from grape jelly and mayonnaise. And of course, the skillet is dirty. It's always dirty. Sometimes I think my roommates crouch in the darkness of the pantry, sauces at the ready; and as soon as I clean the skillet and go on my way, they spring into action: dumping, frying, and caking as much nastiness onto the pan as is humanly possible. I think they just want to make me feel hopelessly and utterly defeated. And I do. I feel defeated by entropy.

So I clean the pan, feeling a great existential weight resting on my shoulders. The work will always be there. For me. For those who come after me. We're all Sisyphus, after all - the collection of us, that is. Humanity.

The pan is clean, so I grab the egg carton from the refrigerator. I just despise that word: refrigerator. Nothing graceful or pleasing about that word. I wish we could call it something else. Even fridge sounds ugly. Oh great, I'm missing a few. I guess I'm their maid and their grocer. Now that's a pretty cool word: grocer.

I like the sound the egg makes when it hits the hot pan. Somehow destructive and constructive at the same time. I could just watch the egg sizzle all day, except of course it would eventually burn to a crisp. That would be no fun. I'm always afraid that the spatula is going to scrape some of the pan and that I'll ingest some kind of metal or metal coating with my meal.

I go into the living room, sit down on the couch, and stare into my creation: a big, steaming slab of egg. That's what it is: a slab. A slippery, white, slab of not quite an embryo. Eck. Maybe it will seem appetizing if I put some Tabasco on it. It won't smell so much like an embryo, anyway. Maybe a little black pepper, too.

Ah hell, what's the use? It's unappetizing. All food is unappetizing nowadays. I'm an angry person. Angry at my roommates, at my house. Angry at eggs.

Damn you, Sisyphus. Damn you.

I guess he already is. I guess we all are.
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Reaction to Dante's Hell as Portrayed in Dante's Inferno

Since its Patristic roots, the Church has struggled with two seemingly contradictory aspects of God's nature. One one hand, God is said to be loving and caring towards his creation. At the same time, however, God is seen as a judge, dealing out justice to all according to their actions. Some Christians have argued that God, due to his overabundance of love, can never punish or cause harm. Other Christians have no qualms in maintaining that a loving God sends people to Hell, even against their own will. Most fall in between these two extremes. I would maintain that Dante's view of punishment in Hell errs on the side of the latter extreme, given the assumption of a loving God as described in Christian literature. The God portrayed in Dante's Inferno punishes based on gross oversimplifications. His God ignores the larger picture of human psychology and sociological influences in addition to the rehabilitative capacities of wrongdoers.

Good parents do not punish their children …

The Clink (New Friends)

Each other is all we have. It's no surprise, then, that when we think about the chapters of our lives, those chapters usually begin and end with the beginning and ending of relationships. My current chapter began in July 2016, when I made the move from Philadelphia to Denver. In many ways, it was the fulfillment of a promise made between Peace Corps friends; Carly, Evan, and I spoke often of our desire to live in the same place some day, and after two wonderful years spent with Kyla, it was time for me to join them.

The great advantage to this arrangement is that Evan and Carly had been cultivating friends in my absence, so upon my arrival last summer, I was met with a wonderful group of people who had been carefully conditioned by Evan and Carly to like me.

Readers of this blog will remember Evan and Carly from my Peace Corps days. They were the closest I had to family for two years, and by the end of our service, we were inseparable.


Evan

Pappy. Pop-pop. Dilly-dally. Evan is know…

Love in the Peace Corps

I joined the Peace Corps because I wanted to connect with the rest of the world, to see life from the perspective of the oppressed, to spread joy and wonder and curiosity to new places. I did not join, in other words, to find a girlfriend.
Why was it then, that as soon as I walked into my hotel in Philadelphia, I felt like a college freshman? I couldn't get through my first elevator ride without my heart-rate increasing and my breath shortening.
The feeling returned during our introductory meetings: the nervousness, the flurry of disordered thinking that accompanied moments of eye contact.
Damn you, body. Why must you sabotage everything good in this world?
I talked this over with my friend Ted on day one in Morocco. I was prepared for the bugs and dirt and cultural difficulties that come with Peace Corps, but nothing could prepare me for the onslaught of charming, independent-minded, attractive girls that I would be meeting throughout those first weeks. He agreed. It was eerie how ma…