Today I had an excursion and got to see a bunch of old-fashioned planes flying in the sky. No good pictures of the planes, only the clouds.
I got some good advice and thought about buying a glucose monitor to make adjustments to my eating habits, and I read part of chapter called "The Cult" in The Manicurist's Daughter as I waited for a dinner that turned out to be very delicious. The author was talking about how awkward she felt when she went to college and told people at Harvard what her father did for a living.
One of the songs playing in the restaurant reminded me of a friend from college who liked to make fun of it when we were younger.
I missed her sense of humor. I thought maybe I could send her a card, even though we quarreled earlier this year about her not wanting to think about ICE raids, and she shut me down, I felt.
Another song reminded me of a ShopRite in Seattle I used to go to during my senior year of college.
I remember when I bought a bottle of ranch dressing and took it back to my shared studio apartment. I would run my finger around the inside of the bottle and lick off the dressing. I have never done that before or since. I ate a lot of beans and tortillas with mozzarella string cheese. When my mom visited me and I ate prawns in a spicy tomato sauce at a Mexican restaurant in Seattle, the meal felt very special and almost decadent to me. I was walking everywhere and I didn't have a lot of money to spend. But I probably wasn't getting enough fat in my diet. So that explains the strange compulsion to consume ranch dressing straight from the bottle. As I was living in a body that was thinner and more easily chilled back then.
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