It was a cold Fresno morning and I had overslept by about half an hour when I slithered out of bed. For someone who is insistent on waking up early, I am painfully inconsistent about going to sleep on time. Also on nights like the one before this particular morning, I had decided to work out before going to bed.
So from the moment my eyes cleared and noises began to make sense. Noises that happened to include the ones inside my head that eventually turned into thoughts. Well at least an impulse.
My pantry was full to the brim but I wanted donuts.
It was counterproductive to exercising the night before but also the reason I deserved it.
I had to make a drive in a semi-conscious state but I had to believe what was in my heart was right.
This is the seesaw that was my thought process as I threw on the bare minimum required to be considered ‘dressed’ and drove to the nearest place that had something with chocolate and coconuts.
This is what happens when you’ve given up alcohol, going out for reflection, growth and productivity. Simple pleasures become your crack. Not even some high-end expensive drug that Tom Hardy is probably doing on the set of ‘Taboo’ (which is a damn decent show) but fried dough and sugar.
I ordered myself two of the most beastly chocolate covered pieces of regrets (not really) and sat down and went to town. There is a moment when your taste buds come alive and you know that there is nothing and no one else you want to share this moment with except what you’re eating. You lose yourself to the food because unlike 99% of people or things in your life–good food when you’re hungry can never disappoint you.
It’s a stretch to call donuts ‘good food’, but it was also a stretch to believe that it mattered to me more than how good they were.
In fact I’m certain there were sex sounds between each satisfied bites because there came a giggling from the nearby table. It wasn’t a bunch of young girls but what I can only describe as jogger moms who were incredibly amused by me.
“Did you just go through a breakup?” The blonde one said as the other laughed and patted her for simultaneously being bad and for being hilarious.
I know everything I need to know of these two. One tells the jokes and the other delivers the perfect amount of shock and amusement. Which was the easy part.
It was much harder to understand jokes when you were high on sugar and fried dough. It was my boots that tipped me off.
They were followed by the dark gray sweats that I wore when exercising, and after that came a leather jacket with a black hood that covers about eighty percent of my head. The only thing about me that doesn’t scream that I have failed, given up, and ready to kill myself via donuts are the facts that I am seeing someone, this was the morning after a shit ton of studying, homework and general legwork.
Except this wasn’t the kind of world for facts anymore. Neither was there time to explain the last one hundred words of the post to these two.
So I looked them in their eyes, smiled and told them,
“This is living.”
Still looking at them I took a bite of the chocolate and coconut covered deliciousness and smiled again.
They got a kick out of that, and I got a coffee out of it.
Apparently they had decided to just catch up and they’d never visited Judy’s Donuts before.
Like I said, this is living.