Ketchup

I wonder what kind of cutting apparatus are used to make tomatoes into ketchup? Okay, I don't really. In my head, though, I'm picturing a lovely ripe tomato being stabbed in the back.

Gah, enough with the thinly veiled metaphors, woman...

So, yeah, I'm being divorced. It hurts and I'm pissed and I feel completely screwed over. So many of you have been there and lived to sing the song, and I know that I'll make it through this, probably better than I was before.

Shouldn't the promise of that be enough to get me through these days of pain, when I'm feeling worth little more than a smashed piece of fruit?

The answer to that question is yes. The promise of hope and betterment should be enough. And really, it is.

Cue Spacehog's "In the Meantime," this moment's musical equivalent to a big funky question mark. How do you begin the begin again when the motivation to do so is nil? That's not a rhetorical question. I need a life during and after divorce. Where do I start?

It just occurred to me that it's going to take a lot of hard work. Not the answer I was looking for, but it makes sense.

Okay. So today, the work must begin.

Screw ketchup. I'm gonna make salsa and plant more seeds.