Half-empty Day

Red plastic packaging crackles under slight pressure from my forefinger and thumb. Light from the open picture-window reflects across the white lettering. Inside the outer-wrapping the white cardboard packet is half empty: half full or half empty? Today is a half empty day.

Automatically I prize one of the little rolls away from its companions. It is white blanched pastry encasing a green, firm paste: simply that; pastry and green paste. Pastry, green paste, mouth-sized and dry; a great accompaniment for tea: hot, strong tea, pastry and green paste. The arid pastry absorbs all remaining moisture from my tongue. Desert dry pastry, green paste: green paste with a hint of flavour. Desert dry pastry and a green paste with the texture of grit: a great accompaniment for hot, strong tea.

Tesco fig rolls, best before March 2010, priced thirty-nine pence. Today is a half empty day.

Today marks my first attempt at comfort eating. Eighty kilos, One hundred and eighty centimetres, thirty-three inch waist: this is a body unused to comfort eating. Today is a half-empty day; a day where comfort food could demonstrate mood changing qualities.

Today is a half-empty day for two reasons: firstly a walk to Leicester Station and an interesting discussion with a cashier over why they’d accept a NUS ISIC card as identification but not an NUS ISIC Extra card. Secondly, an impulsive visit to a barber during the return journey where too much of my hair fluttered to the ground.

Tesco fig rolls, best before March 2010, priced thirty-nine pence. Today is a half empty day.