Cookie

I ate my cookie, and it tasted rather good. I suppose I wanted to take the minimalist approach to this assignment my eating the cookie, which is odd in a way. Like taking a minimalist approach to painting an apple, by first looking an apple. I then realized I was supposed to write about the cookie, and while contemplating the different ways to work with this prompt, I realized that I had finished my cookie.

So then I ate another cookie, thinking of human complexity, obedience to orders, and observation. Right before I left for camp, my sister told me that she thought the whole experience would be a good opportunity for me to “work on my people skills.” I've been thinking about that lately, and relating back to the cookie, which after all, is what I'm supposed to be writing about, I guess I don't observe enough. I was prompted to eat a cookie and I did so, but I didn't intend, nor was I interested in enjoying the cookie in some spiritual sense. I guess it all goes back to the eye of the beholder, or in this case, my conception of the potentials of a cookie. I see indulgence in other things, like watching people around me doing strange things with cookies, imagining how their friends would react if they started doing this in the middle of lunch, slurping and munching away at a chocolate disk, recording their observations.

I am now being handed a packet, and far to late do I realize that I approached this assignment incorrectly. Where I heard “eat a cookie and write about it” I was supposed to have heard “eat a cookie, grab a thesaurus, and get crackin'”. The packet contains a poem describing an Artichoke, with short succinct lines. At first I assumed that the poem was describing the boring, watery bland taste of an artichoke, but the writer seems to be preforming fellatio on the thing, describing it as a man might a woman. That wasn't called for, and maybe I should move on, but I really have nothing to talk about. Upon reading what I have written so far, I notice that I have written about nothing in particular. My mind wanders like that. Just then I was about to go off on a tangent about my seventh grade English teacher who got infuriated by my blank stare and yelled at me about my lack of initiative for three minutes in front of the girl that I liked.

I keep checking to see if I can still taste the cookies, and they're fading pretty fast, but as long as I can feel the aftertaste, I suppose I can make the argument that everything I just said was perfectly relevant.