April 11th, 2002. Day II.

I took some allergy medicine this morning and am feeling a bit sedated at the moment. Everything is muted and rather unimportant.

The kitchen in this place is nice and roomy, especially when no one else is in there. When I am in there alone with the stainless steel table and all four burners going, I feel like a short order cook. I feel...alive.

Some people feel the need to burn themselves with cigarettes or carve designs into their arm with a pen knife. Feeling pain lets them know that they are real. I verify my existence by grilling chicken.

I've grown to love cooking here. When I'm bored, I cook. When I have a bad day, I cook. Lonely: ditto. Oddly enough, when I'm hungry, I take a quick walk over to the local convenience store and pick up an instant dinner. Cooking is an end in itself, I don't do it to satisfy the primordial ID. It's just something enjoyable that is done for the sake of doing it, like drinking coffee and meditating.

This is my lunch for tomorrow. It's not the most appetizing thing I've ever made, but it will do. Kraft Dinner is a mystery. It's absolutely vile in every respect: taste, texture and the fact that it congeals into an orange brick if you leave it too long. Yet, I simply adore it.

In case of emergency: midnight-munchies, when I am too lazy to get up, get dressed and hit Lawson, I stock up on some crap. Chocolate and Tylenol - the staple diet of a single person living away from his mother.

The sky is grey, but it's damn hot today. Sat outside for a bit, while waiting for the computer to free up. I'm getting used to looking at the backs of buildings, but sometimes, you want some variety.

So I've taken to staring at the railing in front of the empty parking lot now.