Which came first?! I go with the egg. It’s basically a large cell. Learned that in Biology, high school freshman year I think. Cells come first. They’re primary.

Not all the time, but sometimes I like eggs in the morning. Sometimes running on little sleep, I wake up and crave a breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. Sometimes scrambled and a little wet, made with a dollop of Smart Balance in a hot pan. I don’t like them overcooked. Or I can hang with eggs over-easy with a runny yolk, taking that tasty rye bread toast and dunking it inside this golden orb of fatty goodness. Dragging the buttered toast across the plate to get every last yolk-y drop. Over-medium is good on a sandwich. Over-hard is just forgetful. There is nothing like the unadulterated joy of being at a diner and seeing your breakfast plate coming your way on a tray. When everything is all laid out, fresh, aromatic, and waiting to be tasted. The moment before that first bite is like before a first kiss. Anticipatory heaven. You know it’s gonna be good and delicious. It is a realm of happiness and evaporation of anxiety. The sound of the clinking of metal cutlery and conversational tones. I love the taste of salt, the crunch of well-done bacon, the scraping of butter over darkened toast. Breakfast time is a magical time. The amber pour of good, real maple syrup over a thick waffle, almost each square is filled with butter or syrup. Little cubbies, honeycombs of tasty goodness. The satisfaction after a good morning meal.

Fertility and the existential dread. The knowledge that I can carry life and am I just pissing it away? Carrying and raising a child is Life on an insane difficulty level. I’d rather figure out another game. Wouldn’t every day be life and death? Anxiety forever? As wonderful a concept it is to imagine a little baby or toddler running around that is mine, truly mine. I don’t take that responsibility lightly. It would have to be something I really wanted, with a partner I really loved and trusted. Maybe in the future. When today feels like a distant memory.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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