I found the cookies. Yep, that's right, nothing will keep me and my stomache from becoming one for quite awhile now. Actually, nothing will keep my stomache and me from becoming one for as long as the cookies last. Which turns out to be about five seconds ago. (As a side note, the spell checker says that stomache is spelled stomach, but that looks so weird to me that I'm going to leave it as it is).
Sigh.
It's interesting how fast things we take for granted disappear. I really was looking forward to having cookies tonight. My mom made these really amazing peanut butter chocolate bars that are always delicious, and I found them earlier on today, to my delight. You might ask "to what lengths is Major Bubbles willing to go to get his cookies?" I answer for you, willing to go the impenetrable darkness, the unbreakable security, the outright shockingness of the cookie jar. Works out well that way, because that's where my mom always puts the cookies (weird, huh?).
I'm in a slightly reflective mood (something that is not really that odd for me) about those cookies, and about my life in general. I've been super busy of late, as reflected in the amount of writing I've done. Between a play, choir, school, trying to work thirty hours a week (not doing well so far), and also trying to be a good friend, I have what I like to refer to as an excess of life. Being that busy makes it hard to just stop and think, but every once and awhile I get a gem of time to think. Normally my thoughts at those moments revolve around girls or relationships (whether they be of the romantic or not varieties), in varying states of annoyance, happiness, hope, and destitution. That's not the only think I have, though.
I also like to think about me. Oooh, so humble! Of course, I don't have any material to work with that's so quite immediate as myself, so I think it's excusable. Today I'm thinking about me and cookies.
I like to eat cookies from the cookie jar. One, that's where they're supposed to be. Two, every time I eat a cookie I see how many are left. Three, every time I want a cookie I have to get up from what I'm doing and physically go to the cookie jar (I've thought about coming up with a song about skipping to the cookie jar, or maybe the happy cookie song, but so far I've got nothing). Four, when the cookie jar is empty, the cookies are gone. I may be sad, but I know that they're gone, and for the majority of the times I don't go looking for more.
Right now I have a question. Are life's cookies found in a cookie jar?
Another great thing about cookies is that you have to learn early on that you can't shove 'um down your mouth as fast as you want to. I tried that at an early age and found out that the Heimlich is not as fun to have done to you as it is to say. Yeah, my limit is about two at a time. Okay, my limit is really only one, but I eat it so fast you might easily be fooled that it's really two.
Are life's cookies found in a cookie jar?
My favorite cookie is the chocolate chip oatmeal cookie. My goodness, you'd almost be willing to sell your soul for a batch of those. My mom knows that they're my favorite, so she almost always makes an extra batch, because she knows how fast I go through them. I once ate fifteen (or more, I don't remember because I didn't count) cookies in one sitting. Granted, I had a rather nasty sugar rush and later headache afterwards, but man were those cookies good.
Are life's cookies found in a cookie jar?
While you think about it (or don't think about it. I'm not a mind reader, I can't tell you what you're thinking right now), I think I'm going to go and eat the very last peanut butter chocolate bar cookie thingy that my mom left. Yummmm. . .
2 comments:
Life's cookies can be found everywhere.
There are cookies piled on a plate on the counter. There are some in the trash can that may have been burnt or appear inedible. If we were able to examine him closely, I'm sure there would be many cookies nestled snuggly in Cookie Monster's fur. There are crumbs scattered on the floor. I'm certain there are some in the oven of life baking at this very moment. In the store, there are cookies for a price; not quite as delectable, but equally tempting. Some are still being prepared by the culinarily advanced Creator. I've seen some stored in the freezer for later, but always feared there might be freezer burn. There are cookies in little pockets, being pulverized back into their basic ingredients.
If all of life's cookies were in the cookie jar, they would be too easy to find. We would take advantage of the fact that they can always where they "should" be. And where's the joy in that?
I don't think Cookie Monster actually eats cookies. I think that his one joy in life is to destroy chocolate chip cookies in a sadistic and obsesively aggressive way in order to make the viewer salivate and cry to see all those good morsels drop to the floor. And in TV land, there is no ten second rule. As far as where my cookies are stored. Most of the time they take up residence inside the cookbook, text based, with large full color pictures. Yearning to be let out, to become a reality, to be discovered and experienced. It is one thing to do homework and munch on cookies in your room, and it is another thing to artistically arrange them on a colorful plate and lovingly wrap them in cellophane and walk down the street and say, "I was thinking about you". I also take them to my primary class, except for that all the parents ask me if I brought enough for them too. Cookies can be like works of art, to be displayed up on a pedestal and awed over. They can be subtle like waiting six or seven years for a flower to bloom, watching it grow and mature, or they can be "wow" all of a sudden as you turn a corner and see a whole field filled with amazingly colorful flowers. But just like cookies, everyone has their especially favorite variety, aroma, flavor, texture, etc.
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