Nutritional Analysis of American Culture

Earlier last year, I was taking part in a mysticism adventure. I was at the dollar store buying supplies, and there was an obese man ahead of me buying a whole bunch of junk food.

And this is where I get Bernie Sanders in my head. It's not that I have a problem with an obese man eating junk food, because I don't. It was an obese man eating low quality, dollar store junk food. I mean, if that's how he gets his kicks, by overeating, he should dine out on a big juicy steak. Not potato chips in a bag with a funny font. That was what got me. The font of the potato chip brand.

As I went home, I saw some sort of little red dots indicating some sort of nutritional element dancing around in my mind. Sure, we live in poverty. But why can't we afford high quality, nutritious food?

And this is where I die inside. Because you can get fruits and vegetables at a food kitchen if you are poor, for free actually. But no one eats their fruits and vegetables!

At the hospital, people don't eat their fresh fruits and vegetables. They are left on the trays for me to snatch.

You, America, have an eating problem.

Ego Hangs By a Thread and Dwindle

No Sex and No Social Contact Make Rachel a Dull Girl.

If I could get hold of the television set, I would withstand a beating from the moniter of the computer for leaving it's side.

It's.

Excuse me, its.

Anyway.

If I could take charge of the mattress, it would develop a crush on my body and remember it's shape.

Ever so.

If I had to remain calm for twelve hours, I would develop too many crushes on too many celebrities and there would be no more facebook and my television would be boulder-struck.

When is it happening, Subbie? You told me I was enlightened, and then you told me no.

Too many years of sitting by camp fires hearing naught but naughty tales of elves, said Subbie.

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG????


Anyway, this little rambunctious tale ends with naught but a several year promise of glorious fun if we trash the hospital joint later on for rabblerousing entertainment purposes.

Naught but several conscious thought processes enteretained Subbie while she was humming a tune of horrid birth control nightmares from a youth of never having kids.

"I have never had an abortion," said Subbie. "One time, the egg didn't implant due to the birth control you were using, Conscie. It wasn't Plan B."

Would it matter? The answer is no. But it wasn't Plan B.

After Lonely Journey, Reunited

So I sleep a lot. Sleep debt or no sleep debt, the brain needs to rekindle love affair with the ground. After two months of purposeful sleep deprivation, I sleep all the time.

My dreams involve a journey. I was informed that there were people watching me from a distance by my beloved spirit friends. After awhile, I turn and see the outline of about five different people standing in the shrubbery of a house very close to my house down the way. At the same time, we are standing on the asphalt of my old elementary school in a completely different neighborhood miles and miles and miles away.

The journey was long and lonely. Beautiful and exquisite, and I have finally reached enlightenment.

I had a dream right after my second episode, around the time I was first sent off to treatment. I was somewhere, and I was taken on a beautiful journey all alone. It was beautiful but scary being so separated from everyone else, whatever friends I may have had and whatever acquaintances who may have temporarily kept me company. It was like journeying off into a painting.

I told my mother about this dream.  She said, "It's alcohol!" No. "Yes it is it's alcohol!" No I don't think so. "YES IT IS IT'S ALCOHOL! Very beautiful and lonely? Rachel, that's a dream about alcohol!"

I wonder in what universe my mother lived. I usually am not alone when drinking, and I would not describe the process as beautiful. Obnoxious compared to the spiritual journey of 2017. But yes, alcohol was consumed on the journey.

The last part of the journey involved journeying into a painting. No one wants to live their life in a painting.

Anyway, in the dream I just had an hour or so ago, the five people came up to me and finally introduced themselves. There were five people I did not know in real life.

There was a reference the a girl in my math class in 7th grade with whom I have never spoken.

And now I am awake. I recently admitted myself into the hospital to wrap up enlightenment and move above and beyond and journey on into the great unknown.

I have no friends who are alive and living.