I have an obsession with figs. Which is no fun here in Colorado -- was much easier in Oakland where the farmer's markets would sell them and I could get two baskets and eat one on the walk home if I wanted. Here I might find them at the grocery store once a year, at twice the cost.
I try to eat with nothing else going on once in a while -- no TV or books or friends, you know -- but usually I just eat absently, tasting the food but not always appreciating it. But figs are impossible to ignore. They are silence and joy and a reminder that it's good to slow down.
I'm finally admitting to myself that I've been experiencing a steady low-level depression since the breakup, made more intense in the weeks since Lucia and my grandmother died. And I'm trying to get myself to take a step back and eat a few metaphorical figs every day. Remember that it's okay to stop holding my breath, if that makes sense.
