Fridge

I like my fridge.  It constitutes one of the many microcosms of the bigger world.  In many ways, I would argue that people are a lot like the contents of a fridge.

Sometimes, whilst rooting through for something to have for tea, you'll find a surprise that you stashed and had forgotten - a chocolate bar maybe, or a nice bit of cheese.

Other times, you go in to look for something specific only to find that it has rotted beyond recognition and is no longer something that you want.

It could be that you used to really like chocolate muffins, then you had so many that the mere thought turns your stomach.  Perhaps you had brie once when you were a bit drunk and really liked it, but sober it's intolerable.  Possibly you had asparagus cooked in a certain way and it was delicious, but any other way does not suit your tastes.

The surprises, whether good or bad, are somehow pleasing, if rather irritating at times. 

What is horrifying is when you stop being surprised, by both the contents of your fridge and by the larger world. On that day, something inside you dies a little which can never be replaced, regardless of how hard you try to resuscitate it.

R.I.P. that part of me that died at 12.15 this morning.