Passing Thoughts

It is between meals, after days and evenings of wine and chocolate, that this thought enters my head: that I might live only on food, sex, and sleep; that writing might even become secondary to this practice; that fulfillment is easy to come by this way. The rational side of me, the one that appreciates friends, art, books, films, only presents herself after the clothes have found themselves back on my body, the pasta is boiling, butter drips on freshly baked bread, and the pesto lays in wait to be mixed up with the penne.