If there is such a thing as Purgatory, in the afterlife, I
know what my Purgatory will look like.
If it is like the Catholics describe it; a place of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their
sins before going to heaven, then I can tell what it looks like.
My personal
purgatory will be spent wandering around the prepared foods department of a
Whole foods.
Hours are spent
with me dazed and confused moving from one bar to the next. Approaching the soup bar to squish the ladle
down in over-cooked chicken noodle soup, or white bean chili. Then, to the deli
counter to gaze upon the chicken wraps. Starving for something, yet not sure
how the normal people of the world make a decision in a sea of choices.
Last night, I
approached the area with the intent to pick up dinner. The boyfriend quickly
made some healthy choices, and disappeared. Leaving me to fend for myself. I
had the look of an eight-year-old, who after hiding in the middle of a clothing
rack full of women’s blouses, emerged to find his Mom, gone. I was alone in Hell
Foods. I entered the Whole Foods convincing everyone around me that it was a “soup
night.” Only to find none of the eighteen dozen soups to be quite right. Maybe
salad…..? no. It was either malaise, or
my fear of food commitment that sent me into the desert for a plastic-boxed
food vision quest.
What seemed to be
hours later the boyfriend called out from the edge of the desert. “Ready?” He
asked munching on kelp-kale fun crisps. I left with a tiny container of tomato
soup. My soul still hovering over the olive bar.
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