I’m a picky eater.  I’m in rehab.

I was the butter and bread guy, the chocolate is candy guy, the plain burger (just buns, meat, and ketchup please) guy.  My food outlook mirrored my life outlook:  limited experience and what little I know is good enough and needs no alteration, certainly not from outsiders… they just don’t understand my Shangri-la of dry chicken breast; no sauce.  I was the Holden Caulfield of the culinary world and Michelin star chefs were the phonies.

Imagine this burger at every barbecue and now imagine telling yourself that burger is in its most delicious form

It is a symptom of a larger life philosophy that is largely unwritten and full of references to a glossary of experience that went mostly unexamined and analyzed, but I managed to place it in my manual for life anyway.  Food is good.  More food is better.  More food sooner is better.  Simpler food is tastier.  Fewer ingredients are tastier.  Advertised food is obviously tastier (unless it conflicts with the previous rules).

The mind rejects stagnation, it fights it with aplomb, yet it struggles when that stagnation is self imposed.

“You could use some protein Johann and maybe a smidge of excercise.”

Thanks, but I think I’ll watch some TV.

“Really?”

Yeah, Dexter’s Lab is on right now.  I know this is good, i’ve seen the episode before.

“Are you listening to yourself right now?  Doritos instead of Mexican food? Watching things you’ve seen before instead of going outside?  How old are you anyway?”

You should know that Subconscious.

“I know what the number is, but I have a hard time believing it.  If you’re not using this drive, energy, motivation, creativity you’ve got, I’ll let your energies go to more productive things.  Have fun getting fat and aimless.

What was that?

“I said have fun while I’m gone.”

Oh, cool.  Hey are you taking hand-eye coordination with you?

“No, why?”

I’m gonna play some Call of Duty later.

You wake up one day and wonder what exactly happened.  You put some tomatoes and cilantro on your pizza instead of getting cheese, walk around downtown unprovoked, finish a book in a day for the first time in a while.  You’ve been asleep… and you woke up in time to move to Copenhagen.

I feel like I have bedhead… on the inside.  Time to take a mental shower, comb my hair, and shave my soul’s neckbeard.

And maybe later I’ll eat some soul food.

Retrospective on the successes and failures of Copenhagen soon to come.

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