On caramel apple dip and almonds, and other things that don't really go together.

For lunch at school, today I brought an apple (I have no idea what kind it was because I pilfered it from the stash at the Iglesia last Sunday), several spoonfuls of caramel apple dip, and a bagful of raw almonds (because salted/roasted almonds taste like chicken. I am so not joking). (I left my peach yogurt at home, darn.) I ate the apple with the dip and about half my almonds, and then I had several fingerfuls of caramel left that I wanted to eat but couldn't, because I had no apple and I didn't want to eat it with my fingers (basically, because I was too lazy to put all my stuff away so I could go to the cafeteria and get a spoon). So...I dipped the rest of my almonds in it.

'Twas only a vaguely interesting food. The caramel pretty much overpowers the almond for about three seconds until you've sucked the caramel off, by which point the almond tastes really bland, and the stickiness of the caramel really gets the almond stuck in your molars. I wouldn't particularly recommend the experience, unless a handful of raw almonds is the only medium by which you can safely consume the remainders of your delicious caramel dip.

My ability at math is often somewhat limited. I either can't make heads or tails of math, or I don't retain it very well (except systems of equations. I don't know why, but that is forever branded into my left brain.) I have managed to work out that

almonds + caramel = vaguely untasty

math + Kiersten = dangerous chemical explosion

...It's interesting that I hate math and love English, since I hate math for the rules but am a staunch defender of the grammatical codex. Of course, I hate math's rules for the logic and everyone knows English utterly lacks logic, at least by comparison with every other language on the planet.

“English is a language that lurks in dark alleys, beats up other languages and rifles through their pockets for spare vocabulary.” ~ Oscar Wilde

I was thinking about empty time. What does one do when one has nothing to do? Or when one's brain is convinced it has something to do, but there are no actual thoughts floating about in one's brain? When one would write about anything just to write? When one would mix moonshine with daylight and name it poetry? What does one do with the conflicting all-consuming entities of a writer's heart and writer's block? With pictures and no words, with words and no people? With nighttime and no sleepiness?

With a blog post all written and no internet until I get home tonight?