Daily Conversations with Anxiety: Fucking Shrimp, Man.

My neuroses were showing today, and not in a oh-look-how-cute-and-eccentric-this-girl-is kind of way, but in a holy-fuck-put-her-in-a-padded-room sort of way. And you know why? Because all of the shrimp are out to get me. I just KNOW it.

For lunch today, I had some leftover pasta that had shrimp in it. I know, I know. You’re shaking your head already.

It had been in a fridge overnight and in the car for about three hours yesterday afternoon until it made it back to my fridge when I got home, so I reasoned that it was not yet possessed by the Devil.

There were four shrimp left in the pasta. I ate three of them quick-fast-and-in-a-hurry, because I told myself that if I ate them quickly, I was less likely to die from Rotten Seafood Butt Explosion Disease. How fast my jaw moves is directly related to whether or not the bacteria survive, or something. I don’t know, it’s science, and I don’t understand science.

I was three quarters of the way through the leftovers when I found the last shrimp. I lifted it up to the ray of sunshine coming through the skylight and contemplated it for a second. It was very Hamlet-esque: To shrimp, or not to shrimp. That is the question.

I wish someone had been there to see the look of consternation on my face. It was a goddamned thing of beauty. Or horror. Whatever, art is subjective.

I mean, this is considered art, so who am I NOT to judge?

The answer was: fuck you, little shrimp, I’m not dying today, and I threw the little sea bug into the trash and ate the rest of my pasta safe in the knowledge that I had escaped certain death via the Evil Fourth Shrimp.

And the shrimp is french. Read into that what you will.

 

 

25 Comments

“it’s science and I don’t understand science”!! I so get you! 😉
And really. That’s art? I’m so happy I don’t have to review these pieces of art.

I mean, sometimes I crumple up pieces of paper and say “this is art. It’s a metaphor for capitalism” and see if anyone will pay me thousands of dollars for it. So far, no dice. Guess they don’t understand the metaphor. 😉

I loves your posts, but one of the drawbacks is I start thinking about my own anxiety. I have to resist writing, “Yeah, well guess what I did!” In convinced that not writing what I did means I’m improving, or something. Heh. I’m rambling. Xxx (no kisses)

Well, I had a two-day meltdown because I have this weird thing that I only can get my hair cut the same day I decide I need to cut it. Salons don’t think this is so great, and I judge them harshly for not having an opening right when I want it. So, the next day I went into my bathroom and my husband felt I was in there too long and thus cutting my own hair, which I had thought about (and mentioned numerous times), so he has to call all over the city (I hate HATE HATE phones and feel like I’m going to have a heart attack every time I use one) to find a salon that could cut my hair within an hour.

It’s all starting to make sense! I ate shrimp once and spent the rest of the night emptying my guts of it. Now, most would think this is the result of a mild sea food allergy, however after reading your blog I’m now of the mind that they are the minions of my mermaid housemate, filled with poison to make me suffer for choosing them over the pasta bake. No, it was not me, but the mermaid!!!

There was a brief period in my life–I think I was eight?–when I forwent shrimp. Like, not even all seafood, or even all animals, just shrimp. Except it was more in protest of animal cruelty or however pretentious prepubescent me liked to justify it. Yeah, I was THAT kid.
I forgot about my pledge probably a week later, but my mom has since stopped cooking shrimp, and I don’t think I’ve ever forgiven her for actually taking me seriously.

My theory on the consumption of possibly gone off food is this: if you don’t think it will make you sick, it won’t make you sick…it’s all in the mind you see…unagi *gestures two fingers to the side of head like Ross in Friends*….and the bowels…because my bowels haven’t quite mastered this form of trickery yet, but they’ll learn soon..couple of 30 minute toilet sessions away from learning. And that my dear, is the true meaning of life.

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