peanut butter blanket.

I haven't really been writing lately.
I mean, occasionally in my moleskin but those are typically-correction: always-things I don't want anyone else to read.
But even the short blips in my black notebook are usually just quick rants. Not really writing. Not describing what I'm noticing around me. Not solidifying daily lessons.
I'm not taking walks either. Perhaps this has something to do with it. Or walks are just symbolic for slowing down, or rather, they literally force me to do so.

This is just not right. It must stop. The movie watching must stop. The dillydallying online, regardless of my lovely new machine, must stop. And with all this stopping, something must start.
And so it starts small. It will start again, with peanut butter.

I am eating some on a soft piece of Brownberry whole wheat bread. The irregular crushed pieces give way when I bite down. Soft. Crunchy. And oily. The other half of the peanut butter is thick and sticky. Oily too, but the line between nut and oil is blurry here, unlike the bits of nut floating in this heavy blanket over my bread.

Peanut butter is a blanket for me. A security blanket. It never gets old. Ever. If I totaled the amount of pb eaten in my lifetime, I think it would be appalling. I went through a jar by myself in about two weeks if that gives you any idea. We're talking in terms of tons here. There was about two weeks my junior year of college where I ate pb & j's and goldfish crackers exclusively. And I still love them. I think I could eat one everyday for the rest of my life. Which is a little bit unlike me. I never order the same thing at restaurants. I shy away from tradition. Routines and schedules typically fall by the way side. Consistency is something I desire but don't always achieve. Except for my love of peanut butter. That-that is consistent. And unending. And simple. I mean it's peanut butter and jelly for pete's sake. We're talking the patron sandwich of children.
And I love it.
With a passionate, unconditional love.
And now comes the "moral" or the story, full of maybe-s and perhaps-es that are so common in my writing. And so...

Maybe just like walking, peanut butter is kind of symbolic. It's a reminder that although I love change and adventure, there's a part of me that likes the familiar. The comfortable. And peanut butter is a way for me to subconsciously admit that.

Or perhaps, it's just plain delicious.