It's in the preparation

I'm getting old. I suddenly ran into (well, I wasn't really running, more of seated at a table reading) a brod of mine at the gas station. His first words, "Tara inom!". Now, anytime until 4 months ago I would answer "Saan?" without a moment's hesitation. This time, I only quipped "Yoko." and repeatedly nodded my head sideways with every invitation he could slip by. So I guess I'm no longer an alcoholic, which leaves me with almost zero character and personality.

*****

Sorry, couldn't think of anything interesting to write. Even more apologies for still writing. It's either tap on the keyboard or light up my 21st stick for today. Yes, I've been counting recently, no it doesn't help. I'd still just as eagerly light up beyond the one pack... if only to have something to accompany my thoughts.

Crap, now that I've mentioned it, the urge to light up is getting greater. Wait a minute, will'ya?

Click...

So now I'm lit. So why am I still writing? I was lying, I guess... smoking or not, writing or not, I'd still do the other thing.

But what do I have to write about? Hmm... nothing comes to mind. Wait, is a bottle of prepared mustard a good enough topic? I'm sure I could write a whole paragraph, even two about it. Just the name alone is interesting... how do mustard seeds prepare themselves? If the dinosaurs still roamed the earth and developed an appetite for human flesh as a condiment... do they go through a complex selection process to come up with a handsome bottle of "prepared humans"? Does unprepared mustard taste better or worse? And ever notice how mustard can be bought in either wide mouthed jars or squeeze bottles? I've never seen catsup in wide mouthed jars, and seeing that they have the same consistency, shouldn't catsup be treated in much the same way?

Hmm... so I guess talking about mustard wasn't as swell as I thought. Which only goes to show just how bored I am to have allowed such a worthless paragraph such as the above to see print. Normally I'd delete such fine examples of mundane talk and be done with it but some mood of mine tonight has ensured its existence as written literature. Stupid mustard.