A sense of desolation in Aisle 4 and other metaphors for impending ruin.

I am not exactly great at living on my own. For all you single or divorced guys who have figured this great and secret show out, I am impressed. I am just too lazy on a fundamental around-the-house level to do well without routine surveillance. Left unobserved and to my own devices, I will mostly watch television, play poker (back when I derived some enjoyment and/or sense of accomplishment from that activity), surf the net [insert euphemism here] and procrastinate.

Here are some things I have discovered I am not exactly good at in the last four months:
Paying Bills.
Cleaning up after myself.
Doing my laundry [thank god I found a dry cleaner who delivers, but even then I get lazy about stuffing my shirts and crap into a laundry bag to hang on my door...yep; it's getting that bad].
Buying new clothes [I used to be pretty fucking good at this, but as I have become a fat bastard, I now avoid the one act that will force me to face this fact repeatedly. I keep telling myself I will go on an absofuckinglutely insane spree if I lose 20 pounds. Still waiting on workout one. Yep...it's that bad.]
Buying Groceries.

I think we'd all agree those are pretty fundamental skills if you're going to make it on your own, even for the short period of time I have to pull this off. I used to be excellent at this shit. I used to be independent to an almost anti-social degree. Such is not the case anymore, and it's a good sign I think that I don't pine for that misspent youth, but just want some help with all the activities of daily living I usually tune completely out without any sense of loss.

Yesterday, I managed to find a grocery store within a ten minute drive of my downtown Buffalo apartment. The experience proved bleaker than I anticipated.

Somehow, on maybe my third grocery outing of the last few months (most people who visit me know my aversion to grocery shopping and bring stuff with them - hint hint Rav) I managed to locate a foodstore in its death throes. Latina's, which according to the picture of its blissfully unaware founders, was started in 1954, was about to call it quits. Today in fact.

I went shopping in a grocery store the day before it closed for good. Empty shelves, with only the most perish-impervious commodities still in play. My cart fought me the whole way to round out the sense of the unnatural. The process was depressing and I wouldn't have continued if I didn't know (I mean know) it could be another two weeks before I motivated myself to buy some living supplies.

The take on this unholy haul:

2 cases of IBC root beer
12 pack diet pepsi
2 bottles of diet coke
1 pack of hamburger buns (the closest thing I could get to bread...I admit to opening the tie and inspecting them for mold. I realize someone else may have done the same thing prior to this purchase and would have shown more restraint but I was craving a tuna sandwhich in a bad, bad way)
2 jumbo packs of Doritos
2L jug of 2% milk...I am committed to drinking it before it goes bad in three days. Waste not, want not, eh?
pizza flavored pringles

And that's about it. There were precious few options and I do feel I did the best I could. But dilemnas (where will I get food next time? why didn't I buy tuna if I wanted a tuna sandwhich?) remained. Problems for another day no doubt.

Barring a miracle, I just don't see how I will avoid going busto. Down well below 1k for the first time in ages and no relief from this punishment in sight. If you guys don't see me around for awhile, understand it's my way of preserving my sanity. I know I missed Friday, but have let myself off the hook with this saturday evening post.

Laytah.