#puffcorn

blargh frankenkitty

Of course I bought a bag, but I left it sitting on my kitchen counter for ages. Because I had been riding high from the moment I saw the puffcorn at the grocery store and was so excited to dig in. But that scared me enough to stop me from actually eating it. I was worried that I had hyped it up too much in my mind, and it wasn’t actually as good as I remembered it being. Or worse, that the recipe had changed in the decade and a half since I last had it and now it was ruined.

Every night for the past few weeks I’ve looked at that puffcorn bag on the counter and been tempted to open it, but I didn’t because I knew how big of a disappointment it could potentially be. And I know, logically, that that’s a pretty absurd fear. Not enjoying puffcorn is an incredibly tiny problem in the grand scheme of things.

But, I dunno. As of late I’ve dealt with so much and so many varied forms of disappointment, lots memories or nostalgic stuff that I’ve held onto for a long time becoming soured or ruined or things being just plain not as fun as they used to be. Maybe I’m just tired of that, and with this unopened bag of puffcorn, I had control over this positive memory, and I could make the choice to just not even give it the chance of letting me down.

Well, with having recently hit an especially low point several days ago, I’m trying to pull myself out of my funk as best I can, and I guess part of that is admitting that I’ve kind of been self-destructive lately in terms of, like, refusing to engage with things out of fear but then not filling that space with anything else so there’s just a whole bunch of holes. So, starting small, I finally addressed the puffcorn bag. Somehow this evening I finally got up the nerve to open it and taste it.

The good news: puffcorn is, in fact, just as good as I remember.

The bad news: I ate the entire bag and threw up.

Cringetober Day 4: Fursona/Fursuit