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Today as I put potato chips in my mouth I said to myself, “I am eating this as comfort food. To comfort myself. Maybe I’ll get brownies next.” So rather than locate live, human, non-caloric comfort I opted for a shiny foil bag that crackles in response when you address it by hand. The live, human, non-caloric kind of comfort is not so easy to locate all the time, and especially if you’ve requested it extensively for weeks on end while sitting on your rear on the couch while others do the work of life.

Not looking to complain about having my foot repaired so I may dance with my man again, but it is kind of a long haul. Today my neighbor turned in my Nook at the library for me, just as I was enjoying a great book on Vincent Van Gogh. Since you cannot renew the Nook, and I’d wasted time on Tina Fey’s Bossypants, and a bit of Diane Keaton’s memoir, and even some of a WWII story, all also loaded onto this particular biography Nook, I didn’t finish Vincent’s tale. I would have gladly learned about Catherine the Great, and Steve Jobs, too, if only they’d let me renew the thing. My neighbors are great, and someone will go get me another Nook when my turns comes up again.

So while I wait for human comfort, or sooner, nonhuman, non-caloric, parchment-style comfort, I will enjoy the immediate power of high-fat food.

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