They sell boxed wine in a single serving portion. 3 glasses in one re-sealable bottle-box. I stopped in at the store for tea and rice milk. Standing in the Tea/Coffee/bakeware aisle, I felt restless. Like sleep wouldn't come without a little help. Like the worry lines in my forehead were getting deeper. I wanted a little wine to relax it all. I intended to by one of those airline sized bottles of Sutter Home - for medicinal purposes, no need for quality or good taste tonight. They were all packed in six packs. Can you just take one of those little bottles and not buy all six? There was no one around to ask, so I settled for the solo (cardboard) alternative.
At home, searching for some little snack to have with my wine, I found a can of smoked oysters. How smoked oysters got in the cabinet, I can't quite say, but there they were. They seemed like a classy thing to eat with my ever-so-dignified box o' cabernet, so I stood at the kitchen counter at almost midnight, eating smoked oysters and drinking wine.
Here's the thing. Here's what's itching and driving me to the wine aisle at Ralph's. Why do things keep changing? I set myself on these straight an narrow paths and I hit only dead ends and curves. Instead of sleeping soundly on a bed of security and happiness, I am sitting up eating oysters from a can and feeling tipsy from wine sold in a shoe box.
I'm beginning to believe that there isn't a time down the road when it all settles down. I'm starting to think that it never does. There's always something, isn't there? No rest for the weary. No sleep 'till Brooklyn.
"Seems it never rains in southern California. Seems I've often heard that kind of talk before. It never rains in California, but girl don't they warn ya, it pours, man it pours."