So this is whatever it wants to be. Whatever I want it to be. Right now it's a confession.
Today I did a full rack of ribs. Cooked them. Prepackaged frozen ones. I felt bad about making prepackaged frozen ribs in the first place. My father taught me better. Such a manly feast ought be tended with careful wisdom and fond experience. But the fact remains I'm lazy, recently sick, and wanted to enjoy the fully returned faculty of my digestive system. So frozen ribs it was.
When they were done, I cut the rack of ribs in half. I ate one half for supper. It was a good supper. I was happy, like a child in the body of a vaguely bear-like man with a post-hibernation appetite. Then I put the other half-rack on a plate, seran-wrapped it, and put it in the fridge. This shall be my dinner tomorrow!, I thought with pride. It was almost like I was a real adult.
Around 10:00 PM I went to the fridge, took out my half-rack of ribs, microwaved it, grabbed a glass of Pepsi and took it up to my room to eat. Then I spilled barbecue sauce on myself, spilled some Pepsi on myself, and waxed poetic.
This is who I am. I hide nothing.