ping-pong balls and tacos

I burned my dinner. Two blackened waffles are sitting on fire escape.

I was hungry and thought it might be nice to have something to eat. Much to my demise, the combination of hunger and loneliness diminished my attention span.

I got bored…

So I thought I might read a bit while the waffles were in the toaster. I started reading and forgot about the waffles.

Now my apartment is fill with smoke, and my belly remains empty.

This is what I was reading:

Seeking some kind of understanding, though, I find myself seeking out others mangled by bizarre familial machinery, those whose parents are dead, or dying, at least divorced—hoping that these people will know what I know, and thus will not hassle me about the details, about give and take, about my contributions. Toph-wise, if, as we paw each other on the cough in the burgundy living room after Toph has gone to asleep, she wants to stay the night, and does not understand why she cannot, does not understand why Toph must not wake up to see random people sleeping in his brother’s bed, she is too young and unthoughtful and does not appreciate the importance of creating for Toph as simple a childhood as possible, and so she is not seen again. If she does not know how to talk to Toph, if she treats him like a hearing-impaired dog or worse, like a child, she is not seen again and is made fun of with Beth, …If she brings Toph something, for instance a pack of new Ping-Pong balls, the need for which she somehow gleaned, then she is a good person, not a bad one, and she is loved unconditionally. If she comes over for dinner and actually eats our version of tacos, without all the ludicrous shit people usually put in them, she is a saint and is welcome anytime.

This intrigues me. I go back and read it again and again.

If I could have just been there at that time I would have bought the ping-pong balls; I would have eaten the tacos. Things would have been wonderful. He would have understood my Toph-wise life and me his. The rules would have been assumed. (No…I don’t have a crush on David Eggers, I just have a similar hopeless romantic view of unspoken understandings in relationships.) I imagine its easy to love someone or just to be with someone who gets it. That way, time isn’t wasted by talking about things that should be understood. Instead it is used to have pleasurable conversations and heated debates followed by fantastic sex or comfortable silence over a cup of coffee and waffles on Sunday morning.