Good fucking morning.

Oh, my eggs.

Not to mention my coffee.

The only thing that is actually working out right now is my glass of water.  That and the Pepto.

thank you for pepto dearest ancestors ...

I started out my breakfast routine like any other day: Staring at the counter for a good 10 minutes, trying to figure out how to make my breakfast.

I might add, it's the same meal I've been making for over 2 years now, so that my morning routine is easy, in an attempt to start the day off without confusion.  It's supposed to be so there's nothing to think about.

Once I finally put it together that I have to put water into the kettle to start, it all seems to go by auto pilot from there.

ah the joys of brain injury ...

When I tried to flip my perfectly cooked egg, and I mean perfect, on to my plate, I thought today was going to start out with an absolutely lovely beginning.

That was until the egg bounced off my flipper with a triple flip akin to Olympic divers, and slipped straight between the stove and counter.

Have you looked in there recently?

It's like it's own living organism.

The hair is abundant, which occasionally is wrapped around a piece of dehydrated onion that inhabits this vast nowhere land we ignore for a good few years.

Yeah.

Straight into the muck and dog hair.

I'm pretty sure normal people would just say, "Oh, well, I guess we're making another one!"

Not me.

I looked at it for a good 10 minutes to figure out if my 2 second rule still applies to food falling into this crevice where no person dares to go.

The only problem with that was, my perfectly timed 4 minute coffee was yelling at me to pour that shit out of my bodum, lest it burns a nasty flavour into the mix.

Well, I ignored the beeping of the timer, because I was too busy investigating the hairy egg.

I had to ask my inside voice, "Are you sure you wanna eat that?"

Inside voice said, "I'm feeling so fucking nauseas and just wanna get this food into my belly to play with the Pepto, before the pink slime wears out of my insides.  Just eat the fucking thing!  It couldn't make you feel any worse than you already do!"

Then I threw it away.  I've learned that the inside voice is not my friend sometimes.

I put another couple of eggs into my lovely little cast iron pan, made by the food gods for the perfect brain injured, breakfast/blob/blab morning routine.

I was frustrated, so I took a break and let the eggs cook while I came to this here computer and set it up for rambling on to 'you', my imaginary friend.

Then I smelled it.

Burnt eggs.

True story.

The other problem, was I forgot about my coffee because the beeping stopped, so it stewed for an extra couple rounds of that perfect 4 minutes.

So, here I sit with a stomach of doom, burnt eggs, over heated flavour of coffee and an attitude of fuck it all!!!!

Gonna keep eating these rubbery burnt eggs that seem to need day long chewing, not much different than that of a bovine mouth.

Not to mention the fact that my eggs are so burnt, utensils won't even cut through these fuckers.

I might as well eat them with my hands.

Then I'm going to chase it with Pepto and coffee.

My day can only go up from here.

Right?

i love and accept myself completely