Thursday, January 14, 2016

expired, schmexpired

Why do they put expiration dates on canned food?  I ignore them, the same way I ignore the expiration dates on my migraine meds (which are just as efficacious as before, meaning most but not all of the time).  That shit is hermetically sealed with alchemy and could probably survive a nuclear winter.

This past weekend, I got brave and went treasure hunting in my pantry.  All the way in the back, where I keep the hurricane supplies, I found a can of beans in there that said 'Best by July 2007'.  Those were probably purchased due to the brutal hurricane season of 2005.  Einstein wasn't around to consult, so I opened them, tentatively sniffed them, and then ate them.  I'm gonna guess he would have told me to toss them.  Because eight years sounds like a long time.  But I felt fine.  Except for the soul-crushing depression.  Do you think they caused that?  I almost wish I had a second can to experiment with.  Such a fkn nerd.

I also opened a can of coconut cream dated July 2015, which seemed fresh by comparison.  No, I didn't mix the two.  Even I'm not that daring.

I'm gonna go out on a limb and say the crushing depression resulted from four (or five?  who can keep track) days of migraines fucking up my brain chemistry and overall trying to ruin my life.

Whilst I was in the throes of this depression, I tried reaching out to various people, without any success.  My sister tried to logic me out of it.  Really?  I know she meant well, and a tiny part of me felt bad for worrying her, but logic and depression go together like 9 year old beans and 6 month old coconut cream.  [That might be my new favorite analogy.]  Another friend started talking about I don't even know what, and I had to rapidly hang up because the sobbing started.  Mute just isn't enough in that situation.  Sorry.  It wasn't you, it was me.  My other friends were supportive via texts.  Text messages are one of the greatest inventions for depression.

You'll be relieved to know that I'm better this morning.  Even if I didn't win Powerball.  Or maybe exactly because I didn't win.  Wouldn't I feel even more like shit if I had millions in the bank and still randomly sobbed loudly enough to scare the cat?

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