I’m supposed to be doing something else right now.

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Something that doesn’t include eating avocado and staring at my patio wondering why my dad gave me the cutest tiniest BBQ when I have literally never grilled anything in my entire life. Like, ever. I’m not even sure I own a lighter. Don’t I also need charcoal or something? And like, a fluid?

“In case you don’t feel like cooking, you know, just throw something on the grill,” he said.

I like the way it sounds. The casual decision to forego traditional meal preparation with a stove and clunky cookware to… throwing raw meat (I’m assuming) over the fire and eating it with bared teeth and greasy hands.

This is what I imagined my dad meant and pictured his youngest daughter doing in the wild of a Poway patio on a warm summer after-work evening.

(By the way, do you want to donate your patio furniture to me? Thank you.)

But like, I don’t even cook, really. Up until last week, I only owned a ten-inch pan that I bought because it had a cute wood handle and was rose pink. Last week I found the matching pot so I bought it. For Christmas, my sister bought me an Instant Pot which I won’t deny is the most magical thing ever. The rough part is the amount of food it makes. I don’t need that much food. Once it’s tupperwared and refrigerated, it might as well be tossed in the trash because I won’t open the fridge again for another two weeks.

Last year at this time, I weighed 22 pounds more than I do right now. Part of this can be attributed to being obsessed with walking my dogs. The other is not needing psychiatric medications that are known to make it impossible to lose weight. Some psych meds make you crave. I remember not being able to want to stop eating sometimes. It was ridiculous. However, it always struck me that when I’d be hospitalized for medical conditions and pain, the first and, often, the only thing I’d be told was, “Lose weight.”

Come to find out later, that was not the actual issue and I still am in pain frequently but then I am also still overweight. But some of this pain I’ve had since I was a child and it wasn’t a weight issue then. Just like it isn’t now.

Sort of accidentally, a book about trauma made its way to me. I love it so much. My sister went to college for psychology and I would read her college textbooks as a teen. My brain loves learning about itself, such ego, right? This book reminded me of those days.

It is also probably because of this, that it’s difficult for me to imagine humans as being anything but re-enactments of their memories. Even for the ones that swear not to repeat their parents mistakes. For example, every decision they make with their own children is dictated by doing the opposite of what their parents did to them.

Did that make sense?

I’ve been doing a lot of work around these re-enactments. Even the way I hold my body awkwardly when I sense conflict or the way I hold my breath when I’m considering saying how I really feel about something is just such an obvious regression. To little girl me. Not in control of much, at times, even now, not even of her body.

I finished my avocado so I lost my enthusiasm to write something cohesive. Also, now, I should probably get back to what I was supposed to be doing to begin with…

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