Today is Taco Tuesday, so I ate tacos for breakfast.
It’s actually Sunday, but hey, it’s Taco Tuesday in my heart. As I ate the tacos for breakfast on a Sunday morning, I felt particularly pessimistic about the fate of the world – not in the least because I was eating tacos for breakfast on a Sunday morning. Anyway, I’ve felt this sort of existential dread for the past couple of weeks – the feeling that life and existence is just darkness; and it feels like I’m falling through space, no, floating in space, suspended time, and there is nothing at all around me as my body crumbles into a million pieces; and I feel, see and hear nothing, and there is an absolute silence, and I stare into my unfolding fate as present and future become one; my life and destiny are trapped together for eternity in an inescapeble and endless hall of mirrors, and I can see infinity, but I can see nothing.
I know what you’re thinking. That’s not how you spell inescapable! Well, dearest breadheads, that should tell you everything you need to know about just how pessimistic I feel this particular Sunday morning – spelling, I think, is an endeavour that rapidly declines in importance when you consider that the fate of the world rests in the hands of our generation, and humanity’s very existence faces a grim and unyielding peril, ranging from climate change to global pandemics to the fact that Marvel movies just aren’t as good as they used to be (there, I said it).
Sbo abyway, I’mm sppeling everythibg ibcorrecdly naow, jsust 2 emphasaize howe uselezz spellidg iz ubless oui doo subthing aboud thee fuchure oph ower wurld.
Never mind. That’s probably giving you a headache, and I think my Google autocorrect thing just had a stroke.
Anyway, as you can probably tell, I was quickly overwhelmed by the sheer existential terror of it all, and my toes started to tingle in a most ominous way. But then my mom called me upstairs to give the dog a bath, and these thoughts promptly shuffled to the back of my mind with only a moment’s notice. I guess that’s humanity’s coping mechanism – trying to consider the entirety of our problems at one time is much like trying to give a dog a bath – almost impossible, and decidedly unreasonable. I sometimes feel bad for politicians – might be the first time anyone’s ever said that – for having to tackle the entirety of a country’s political, social and economic instabilities, facing the pressure to humour the interests of disparate sectors, factions and people all at once. But then I remember that they’re politicians, and I laugh it off.
I guess what I’m saying is, pick your battles – you can’t possibly advocate for change in every single field you encounter. But what do I know? Maybe you breadheads are just better, more talented people than I am. Go get ‘em, boys and girls!
Also, I just remembered that this is a bread blog, so I’ll close with a quote from a brilliant but misunderstood scholar named W. I. K. Pedia on rye bread.
‘Rye bread is a type of bread made with various proportions of flour from rye grain. It can be light or dark in color, depending on the type of flour used and the addition of coloring agents, and is typically denser than bread made from wheat flour. It is higher in fiber than white bread and is darker in color and stronger in flavor.’
Half-baked Bread Heads 