February 10th, 2021
A Broaster made me cry today.
Let me go back.
So I was driving down to Faribault this morning and thinking about an episode of I Love Lucy.
In this episode, Lucy and Ethel work as inspectors in a chocolate factory. At first, they’re doing just fine, focusing on each piece as they pass on a conveyor belt. The machine starts moving faster and faster and more candy than they could possibly inspect starts piling up, the audience (and Lucy and Ethel) eating it up.
I was thinking about it because I am the inspector and, in a delightful twist of irony, also the machine. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed at times and like I haven’t been processing things like I should, so I just keep putting things in front of me to do.
As I thought about this, I realized I had arrived in town and decided to take a further exit. There stood the Broaster, home of delicious fried chicken and homemade sides, and I simply lost my shit.
The day my mom died, after all the things that had to be done were done, we decided on the Broaster for dinner. And as I ate, it felt like I hadn’t tasted food in a month, and eating made me feel both good and guilty in the same bite.
The feeling drained from me as soon and as sudden as it had come down.
And as I wear my tired jaw, I’m regularly left to wonder how long this chewing will go on.