Yesterday, I ate some worms. No, really.
I am sick out of my mind because, of course, summer is when a normal person gets a cold, right? So yesterday I roll out of my bed, all achy and snotty and sounding like a hydraulic pump, sweaty as hell and feeling like all the booboos of the world congregated somewhere between my nose and the back of my brain. And, with my stomach in knots and my throat scratchy like sand paper, I decide that a nice bowl of cereal is what I need. I go to the pantry, I pick a box, I see there’s enough left for exactly one portion, I pour it into a nice bowl and cover it with almond milk, I grab a nice spoon, I turn the on the olympic games and let myself fall in a cozy armchair. Indulgence. Bliss! I chew slowly, the raisins are plumply popping in my mouth, the milk is silky and delicious and I fucking love it.
And then I see them. Half way through chewing my tenth mouthful, I see them. TENS of them. Worms. Floating. White, fat, and drowned in a sweet death of organic almond milk. What followed was rather cartoonish, with a stunned me blinking like an idiot, my mouth full, staring at the spoon and panicking in disgust, amazed at 1. the fact that the whole thing is tasty as hell and 2. the fact that I’m not puking with a vault like the dumb dude in the Jackass videos.
The aftermath is pretty straight forward, therefore rather boring (spit. clean my mouth with soap. drink a lot of water. discard the wormy cereal. wash the bowl. stare at the box. reflect), so I won’t talk much about it. However, I really got hung up on the fact that, want it or not, I ate some worms. And that they were delicious when I didn’t know I was eating them, but became disgusting as soon as I found out I’m actually chewing on insects. The whole thing made me think: how many more things are there we, adults, are conditioned about and forgot how to enjoy?
1. Gross is fun. Handling crawlers and critters, slapping mud, putting your hands on everything, walking through marshes heaping with leeches, chasing smelly chickens, examining worms and frogs, staring at piss and shit, running barefoot, not minding dog hair, eating stuff you dropped in dirt, licking icicles (real ones, not the type you buy), kissing (all) animals, sharing your gum- remember all THAT? Wasn’t it fun to not care? Wasn’t it delicious to actually look at yourself and see that you’re all dirty? The growing up shit we all do (learn-about-microbes, shun bodily functions, move from the back yard into a sterile concrete office and so on) plus the invention of hand sanitizer killed all the joy. So go ahead, go do something gross we used to have fun with as kids. Like, fart.
2. Your body is fun. Playing with your weewee moves from exploratory to dirty a bit too quickly, in my humble opinion- I’m still amazed that parents nowadays make their 4 year olds wear bathing suits, complete with tiny bras for little girls- really?? Isn’t that a little extreme- even for decency’s sake? What ever happened to finding your belly button and being so fascinated with it you’re drooling all over yourself? What happened to giving names to all of your toes, to staring at yourself while you make faces in the mirror, to cutting your own hair and laughing about it? (Note: we all know adults who are so enamored with themselves they can’t help but staring at their reflections in every window they pass by- that’s NOT the type of self-love I’m talking about. Being aware of your body, liking it for what it is, not obsessing over what it looks like- you know, having fun with it without feeling guilty, or dirty, or weird- that’s what I’m talking about). So go on. Touch your toes. Explore your belly button. When’s the last time you looked at your tongue?
3. Forgetting is fun. Not much to say here…. except that I’m still shuddering about eating worms. And I miss the times when life came to me hour by hour, when my brain was so busy discovering the new that it didn’t linger much on the old, when I was programmed to forget what was unpleasant and move the fuck on. When I didn’t mentally go over my conversation with my boss a hundred times, each time picturing a new way to eat the bitch alive. When I didn’t get so hung up on shit I couldn’t control. So go ahead, for your own sake, and remember to forget.
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