A bowl of Nothought

That is what dinner was: mac and cheese. An end to thinking, It requires no thought to cook, and no thought to eat, and induces a sublime lack of thought.

It was a day with too much information. I have been glued to online earthquake news from Japan, and am still tuning in to Libya, from whom our collective focus has shifted as it did from each revolution in turn. While we look the other way at the terrible quake aftermath, Gaddafi will mop up.

I sit safely in Brooklyn, safe except from corrupt State Senator Carl Kruger, just arrested, who took bribes in the hundreds of thousands of dollars. I read and read and a cloud of deep black depression slowly descends as it can in the wake of too much thought, and the ills of the world combine with the worries in our own personal lives until an internal fire drill must carried out to get all the synapses back in order.

We worry about our dear friend Eric, stuck in Tokyo, and who left Sendai the day before the earthquake and waves struck. His wife Mimi is here expecting a baby any week now, and she waits with little Giao, who asked her today, Why are you sad,  Mamma? Three year old Giao is expecting a toy bullet train from Tokyo. He does not know that whole trains have gone missing. He is mad about cats and spelled out Don Estorbo's name last week on a chalk board. Soon he will spell earthquake, too.

An email just in from Eric, who will hopefully be on a flight tomorrow. All is chaos.

Hence the carbohydrates and cheese.