assignment #8 - lily gardner: tomato gal

I despise order, yet adore lists. By some fleeting flash of alignment in my horoscope, this prompt arrived at the ideal time, the metaphysical space so many of us live in, where we are cognizant of the immense amount of work with have to do, yet lack the motivation to achieve it - no matter the consequences. Yet, for the first time in weeks, my list is going to be more than simply a device for procrastination.

• Fears: the global climate crisis, eating an unexpected bug in my *very organic* lettuce, living with regrets, wet paper towels
• Annoyances: the presence of high fructose corn syrup in all American food, getting the hiccups, ignorance,
• Accomplishments: making my bed this morning, Mark Ruffalo retweeted me (once)
• Confusions: my acquisition of whooping cough, the fleeting nature of time, chia seeds
• Sorrows: our current systems of oppression
• Dreams: climbing Kilamanjaro, fighting our current systems of oppression
• Idiosyncrasies: peanut butter is a condiment for every food
• Risks: napping (never seems to work out as intended), jumping out of an airplane (desire), writing haikus
• Beloved Possessions (Now and Then): my cows, my pillow, thesaurus.com
• Problems: speaking loudly and frequently (often without regard to the conversation at hand), situational narcolepsy

When I asked the woman in the booth if she would tell me my fortune, she was taken aback. So was I. I hadn’t realized sign said my predestination came at the price of $10. The women on the streets of Spain would tell it to me for free as they handled my palm and held incense to my nose. I never fulfilled their unspoken requests for money. My apologies, to whom it may concern.

Since then, I’ve never been able to get the chia seeds out of the grooves of the sponge. Nasty, amalgamous blobs. To think this is how I replace the omega fatty acids of fish. Fish oil scares me more. My Jewish grandmother’s reaction if I contracted irreparable nerve damage scares me the most. If it appears my life is filled with thoughts of food, please blame my heritage. 

She once turned to me and said, peanut butter and jelly on a bagel is such a Kentucky thing. I am still in a state of confusion about her rationale. Perhaps I should ask, before it’s too late. I had so many things to ask of him, all I knew were the rituals of miso soup, and that he always waited for her at the table, and that he was respected. Everyone says the Bob at home was the same Bob at work. But don’t we all code-switch? What if he was simply unable to ever be his authentic self? 

I want to become a gardener, in a sense larger than my last name. I would pay $10 for the seeds, I can be their fortune teller. There’s no lingering wonderings with fruit.