Roots

I woke up this morning feeling pretty drab. I tried all the routine things that typically perk my spirits: Smashing cherry tomatoes in my palm (great stress reliever), perusing ebay for Cabbage Patch Kids, doing science experiments. Nothing seemed to help though. Then it occurred to me that I was out of touch with my inner child. So I lay in my tub, and did a breathing exercise; four short breaths in - one long breath out. Then I did an "envisioning". I tuned out all the hub-bub from the world outside, and connected in my mind to my younger self. I called out to him, saying "BRANDON! WHAT IS WRONG?" From the lunch line he raised his fists and shouted back, "NO DOUGH!" 

I awoke with a defibrillative jolt, splashing suds all over my new USA bath mat and sat in awe, pondering the potential meaning of his words. After thirty minutes of brow-furrowing contemplation, the water had chilled, and I found myself unwittingly gyrating for warmth. This will not do, I thought, so I dressed myself and went for a stroll around town.

On my way to the subway, I passed a pizza kitchen called "Tony Tomatoes" and thought I'd pop in for a slice of Hawaiian. But before I could order, something caught my eye. A bakers dozen of yeasty orbs rising in the morning sunlight coming through the window. It was then I remembered that as an adolescent, I used to love to gnash my teeth into a wad of pizza dough. I offered Tony Tomato five dollars to bag me the best uncooked glob on the rack; an offer which he accepted. 

I consumed it greedily on the subway, swallowing every slick chewful with addicting fervor, and I perfectly beamed for the whole remainder of the day. 

So thank you little Johnn. You know me better than I know myself.