growing up

I find the hardest part about being an independent adult is keeping me fed.

It never stops! I have to eat something at least three times a day, if not more. The constant endless need to consume tires me. It takes me at least an hour and a half every waking day to take in my meals, and at least another 45 minutes to prepare them. Then add in grocery shopping and planning and whatnot, its crazy!

Yes, I like eating, and yes, I like food. I am not a picky eater, either. It is just that the amount of time and energy I have to put into filling my gullet constantly surprises me.

As a youth, I was fortunate in that my parents took good care of me. I was sheltered, clothed, and fed. They always made sure their children had "something to eat".

My current existence is without that particular luxury. I am great at eating, and will eat everything in my house - until there is nothing left. I swear to god, I open my fridge and if there is something edible in there I do a little dance. Last night I woke up and nearly died of joy because I found that I had some fruit to nosh on.

I suppose it is a testament to the luxury of my life that I can complain about something like this. No worries about being able to have access to food, afford to eat food, or have time to get food. I don't have any other mouths to feed besides my own, either. It's just that of all of my imaginings of my adulthood, no concept, dream, or idea ever incorporated this much effort regarding meals.

It only took me 33 years to get it - surviving is still what we all essentially do. Take off the bells, whistles, shrink wrap and delivery it all boils down to the basics.