The horror. . .the horror. . . .

Today is a defining and singularly appalling day in my life. So, in the unlikely event that you don't get what I'm referring to in my title for this post, it's important that you do.

The above is to be read a la Marlon Brando as the bloody and nearly dead Walter E. Kurtz in Apocalypse Now; only with a lot more inherent horror (for me, anyway).  I have watched this movie once, and only once. And wish that I hadn't ever seen it, because it was too disturbing for me to deal with even the once (and I have a really high tolerance for things that are disconcerting in film).  Today was like experiencing for real the distress and horror of watching Apocalypse Now.  And I don't know how I am ever going to recover. Seriously.

The day began with none of the foreboding it should have. After waking up, I went to the used book sale at the Public Library, where I bought six hardback books, and four paperback books (including two Norton Anthologies--awesome!) for $8.  On my way out, I saw a room marked "Specially Priced Books."  This piqued my interest, so I wandered in, and luckily found a dozen or so beautiful, little, red Waverly Novels printed in 1895.  Oh, how I love old books!  Alas, I only had cash to buy three of them, but I was ecstatic, nonetheless, when I went home.

Nubby, Candy Andy, Bear, Bobbie & the baby, and Mique were all there hanging out when I got home.  And they were all eating chips and dip.  I went into the living room and, as always, suspiciously hovered over the dip trying to ascertain whether or not it was safe for me to eat.  It was difficult to tell.  But Andy said "It's artichoke dip." So I ate some. After I ate some, he said: "Made with chicken" which I laughed at, since he always says things like that to throw me.  As I proofread his paper, I continued eating the artichoke dip.

As I got up to go work on our group project, I leaned over to get some more dip while telling Mique that "I'm addicted to this!"  The moment I put it in my mouth, my mom says "Don't eat that! It has chicken in it!" At which point, I nearly threw up in my mouth and/or blacked out.

My entire existence has been called into question.  I have not touched meat (except for the two times I tried to try fish) since I was twelve.  That's one year shy of two decades sans meat.  And today, all of that was erased. The only characteristic that I've ever been steady about, the only thing that I feel some comfort in defining myself by is gone.  I'm no longer a vegetarian. I ate meat.  I didn't hate it.  Not only did I not hate it--I actually liked it (granted it only tasted like cheese to me, but still. . . .I didn't notice. And I should have).  Today is now my own, personal, apocalypse, and has led to a complete deconstruction of my identity and moral structure (along with permanent nausea).  And everyone else just finds it funny.


Who will be their voice? Who will hear their cries? The ones who cannot speak--as we dehumanize incarcerated innocents, their sentience ignored; slaughtered by the millions for the pseudo-carnivores. What a waste of our time, of our land, of our humanity (Good Riddance, "Waste")