The Part Where I Buy Three Pastas

Errand day. I made a list. The list had seven things on it, including one that just said 'produce, figure it out,' which is a sign of either confidence or delusion and I'm honestly not sure which. I drove to the grocery store in the afternoon when it's never that busy, the parking lot half-slush and half-cleared, and I gave myself forty-five minutes max.

I was there for an hour and ten minutes. In my defense: the discount bin was right at the entrance. And pasta was on sale. The specific problem is that three different shapes of pasta were on sale, and I could not make a decision about which one I needed more, so I bought all three and told myself that was efficient.

three kinds of pasta and a candle. adulting.

I also came home with a small candle that smells like cedar and something vaguely citrus, which was not on the list, was never on any list, and which I have no real explanation for except that it was there and it was $3.99 and February is long.

Back home, coat still on, I unloaded everything onto the counter. Gerald was on the windowsill doing his Gerald thing. The collapsed bowl was next to him, same as always. I thought about the fact that six weeks of Wednesday pottery classes gave me one kept object, lopsided, honest, mine, and that a single grocery run gave me more carbohydrates than I can eat in two weeks and a candle for ambiance. Different kinds of making something out of an afternoon. Both feel about right for February.

The pasta is going in the cabinet. The candle is lit. I'm calling this a productive Wednesday.