My appetite is fueled. I stood up to the offenders. I pissed the bullies off.

But tell me you would do the same. You would, wouldn’t you? You would march into a meeting and make a scene? You would tear up the documents, refuse to be a part of it. You would say how you really feel. You would stand up, too. I know you would.

And then… damn. They either cry or run away. Cowards! What we need is not destruction, but connection. Rather.. we need to destroy, then to connect.

Choose between the calm and the joy. I wish for both, but it rarely seems to work that way. The power within me yesterday did not opt for calm. But sometimes calm is all that makes sense.

And it is calm now. There is nothing left to do now but to cook. I cherish the bountiful season, the cooking, the ritual, life.

I crave this: the alcohol cooking off what will become the sauce. The butter, the brandy, the cream and the song. The life, yes, coated in it.

For even just one taste. Just one taste of truth, and for the pleasure of creation, that would be enough.

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