I have always known that I am a lazy, impatient person.
I never wanted to do any chores; I always would’ve much preferred to be reading or napping or playing soccer. In other words, something I was actually interested in. I am impatient especially with things I hate or find boring (ie chores). Another thing that I find myself impatient with is retelling a long story that happened a period of time previously. I hate having to lay out background or catch someone up with what’s going on, and this is because I am a very excitable person. When something happens, I want to talk about it RIGHT THEN because I’m having all the FEELS. I am that person who gestures wildly with her hands and starts talking louder and louder until someone eventually has to shush her (I was the bane of sleepovers and spending the night because I almost inevitably woke up someone’s parent and we were then made to go to sleep). When something engages me, it FULLY engages me, and I get very excited to tell someone about it.
So, whenever a new thought occurs to me that I just HAVE TO SHARE WITH EVERYONEEEE, I get very impatient when I need to explain the context first. I haven’t written on this blog in approximately two and a half weeks (a fact I find sad). Within that time, I experienced a Spring Break that I had a lot of feels over, and I did lots of interesting things. Other interesting things have happened since Spring Break, too. But, as is my unfortunate tendency, I don’t want to have to go back and talk about them right now because I’ve got something else to say. And since the lovely but highly anecdotal things I experienced aren’t really necessary to this particular post, I am going to hold off. I WILL write a post with pictures over my life lately, since the whole purpose when I started this blog was to recount and preserve the experience of my last semester of college. What I didn’t bargain for was the fact that I was going to be so wildly busy that it was going to be difficult to find the time to blog about those experiences. But tonight, I found the time. And that leads me nicely to what I want to talk about.
Most specifically, milk chocolate Milanos. I don’t like dark chocolate, and once or twice I’ve accidentally bought the regular dark chocolate kind, and I couldn’t even eat them.
Now, I am not a junk food eater. I am a little plump, but that’s because I really love my dessert. I don’t count candy or potato chips or pop, however, as dessert. I don’t really partake of those things. I don’t even really like cookies. But Milanos…
My god. They are on another plane of existence entirely.
I don’t know if you have ever had Milanos, but if you haven’t I AM SO SORRY. Please, please, please go buy yourself some. They have lots of different types if you don’t like milk chocolate, and I’m sure they’re (almost) equally delicious. I am fairly convinced that Milanos are made with some sort of witchery (I like witchery, because it’s like a combination of witchcraft and sorcery, as are Milanos). Speaking of who makes Milanos, it’s Pepperidge Farms, which is fairly obvious if you’ve ever gazed upon Milanos. But what you may not know is that (as of 2009 when I researched it), Pepperidge Farms was owned by Campbell’s, as in the soup company. Isn’t that weird? I had to do a research report over a multi-national corporation as a high school senior in AP Human Geography, and I chose Campbell’s. I was quite surprised to find out they owned Pepperidge Farms in the midst of my paper.
(Enter smooth segue).
Which reminds me of the reason I felt so compelled to post. Milanos. You may be saying, really? Two and a half weeks without posting, and you decide that waxing poetic over Milanos is the post you just can’t do without? And to you people I say, obviously you’ve never eaten Milanos. But, alas, you are actually correct. I didn’t post just to idolize Milanos.
Though let’s be real here, they totally deserve a post dedicated to their goodness. But, to my point. Yesterday, as we are wont to do in a tiny college town that boasts little in the way of amusement and even less in the way of establishments that stay open past 8pm, my roommates, my sister, and myself all went to Walmart. Now, I think I’ve made it clear how much I love Milanos, but let me restate it, just in case. I really, really, really, really love Milanos. And this is why I try not to buy them very much. Milanos are almost three dollars a bag, which doesn’t seem like much until you realize there’s only 15 cookies per bag. Now, I’m really bad at math but that seems like a lot for only 15 cookies (this is what I must tell myself). But, honestly, three dollars is a small price to pay for a little bag of heaven. So that is not even the only reason I rarely purchase Milanos.
It’s because when I do, I usually eat an entire bag of cookies within a day.
If you are one of the poor people that cruel misfortune has somehow deprived so far of Milanos, let me explain to you how a bag is set up. They are in a pretty bag that’s top is folded down. When you unfold it, you find a layer of Milanos in the little crinkly paper cup-like thing you see in the picture above. There is typically five cookies per cup, and when you finish those, you take out the little paper thing and then there’s another layer, and then a final layer.
When I eat Milanos, this is typically how it happens. I buy them, get home, open the bag, and proceed to eat two to three cookies. I am able to restrain myself this first time because I always initially start with the willpower to “save the rest for later” and to “make this bag count.” Then, comes my Milano breakfast. The morning after purchasing the Milanos, I always eat approximately five for my breakfast as I’m scrambling, already late, to find something I can carry with me out the door as I rush to class. This morning was no different. When you remove the first layer, you don’t feel so bad. You think, oh my god, how could I forget how delicious those were? Thank goodness I’ve got two more layers! But with every layer I peel back, I am faced with another layer of my own unstoppable gluttony. It’s like my brain can’t even conceptualize how delicious I find Milanos, and I forget until I start eating them again. Then I can’t quit eating them. I just go back for one more, and then another, and then another. And that’s how, 24 hours after I purchased them, I find myself at the bottom of the bag, with only three lonely Milanos left and my tastebuds demanding I feed their drug-like addiction to the taste.
But Sara, surely you are saying, you said this post wasn’t just about Milanos! And you, of course, would be right. But I promise, this was necessary to set up.
What I realized tonight, as I crouched over my bag of Milanos, slavering over them while still at my kitchen counter like a heathen, is that Milanos are kind of like writing for me. I have a bad tendency to go long periods of time in between my writing, where I let the every day dross of life fill my time and distract my purpose, so that I tell myself “Oh, I can always write later. There’s no deadline on that.” But eventually, I always (ALWAYS) come to a point where I can go no longer. My skin gets this almost itchy feeling, my brain will simply not stop at night with plot ideas or snippets of dialogue or clever titles, and I feel as if I’m going to simply burst if I don’t get to a computer. I will have to write, and much like with Milanos, I always forgot how wonderful it makes me feel until I’m actually doing it again. And then it’s like I can’t stop, and layer after layer of my brain reveals itself to me, I pull the ideas from the bag of my head, and they are quite simply consumed by my computer. It’s a glorious, reassuring process that always helps me feel again that I really am a writer, and that this is what I should be doing, because I can’t seem to not. If I had to choose between the two, I would choose writing over Milanos, and that’s saying something.
By tomorrow morning, I will have finished the Milanos (for my breakfast), and I will have proven to myself that I am helpless to their siren call. But after tomorrow, I can almost guarantee that I’ll have been on my computer, typing away at one of the two novels I’m working on (and have been working of for a fair amount of years. The whole long writing droughts thing makes finishing a novel slow-going). But it seems to me a good sign that writing is so wonderful to me that my mind can’t seem to grasp the pleasure I experience from it unless I’m in the midst of it, so I’ll take that positive reassurance, and hopefully have a new post for you all soon, resplendent with Spring Break reminiscences and key life events that have transpired since I last chatted with you. Also, just a quick note, if you’ve been keeping up with My Great Absurdist Love Affair/Senior Paper with Camus, I hope you’ll cheer for me a little to hear that I’m up to almost 11 pages now. Only 14 to go! But hey, I totally love this writing thing, right? Right?????
In the meantime, cheers to a future that I hope is saturated with both Milanos and my musings, because surely if I start eating more Milanos, I’ll start writing more.
I think that is some of the soundest logic I’ve ever heard.
PS I said Goodbye in Romanian, because I want to go there someday.