I’m An Angry Chef…. Rawr

Cooking with Anger was really fun! My list was:

Level: Chef

Your basket:

Main Ingredients:

wife

loser

cheap red wine

vinegar

bedroom

Spice Pack:

1/3 smidge of frivolousness

1/4 cup of agitation

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My story:

Have you ever been so in love with someone, your heart aches when there’s distance between? That slow, agonizing torment that creates a nervousness in your blood. The rushing you may try and ignore that flows through your warm, soft skin, if you drink an espresso when your usual cup of the day is nothing but a cool glass of water. The anxious, palm sweat forms as you try to remember the last time you saw their face. Heard their voice. Felt their skin. distance that stretches across oceans of minutes, to a place where you hope she can remember the sound of her cell phone…

I am a loser. A loser of keys and wallets and cell phones and receipts. A loser of memories. Memories of forgotten calls and texts. Of missed birthdays and anniversaries. I am no better than the vinegar that attracted the flies from your lips as you spat ugly, horrendous adjectives in my direction. I am no better than the cheap red wine that flew through the air, and crashed at the base of my retreating skull. Ruby red still trails from the spot you once stood, to the bedroom where I packed you in a suitcase, and left you by the door. I am no better than… or so you once told me. The sound of your voice was once one that left me steaming in a hot cup mixed with a fourth of agitation. The shrill sound of each beckoning call, the sureness of your words, the raspy whispers that escaped your throat as you once called me by another name. Once.

We called each other husband and wife. And once, you looked at me with the longing eyes of some distant memory. A memory that faded to a lull as your taillights disappeared into the drunken night. I see you in the kitchen, the bathroom before work, in the hallway at night, the bedroom the morning after you left.. Your figure is no more than a hologram, but the ghost of your presence haunts me like needles pricking my delicate skin. I see you in the broken promise of hot coffee which was no more than a frivolous suggestion. I see you for what you became. The monster you revealed.

The distance of you creates nightmares in my stomach as the waves crash and the air stands still in my lungs.

Exhale and remember, everything in life is temporary.

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