Feb 03 - A Peculiar Craving

More from the 'Wreck this Journal' journal! This time documenting a boring event in (chicken-scratched) detail.

It was barely half past midnight in the early morn of February 3rd, 2012 when I was overcome with a peculiar craving for cheese and bread. I suppose it was from the chapters of 'Jane Slayre' that I had been reading before then. I sprung from my bed, went upstairs (noticing that my mother was watching the television), and entered the kitchen. The package of marble cheddar cheese (mild) was on the top shelf of the refrigerator door among the chip dip and garlic bread. It had already been opened, so the outer layer of the exposed cheese was a bit hard, however I wasn't one to complain. I cut off a sizable piece of cheese and cubed it. I placed the bits of cheese onto a thin slice of white bread (which had adopted the scent of the ripened bananas in the bread basket). Before taking the first bite, I decided that a few dill pickles would be a good addition, as I knew that we had a large jar in the refrigerator of baby dill pickles.I navigated the middle shelf above the crisper, taking out a large bowl of dinner's salad in order to get to the pickle jar. I noticed that a few of the spinach leaves had begun to look off, so I proceeded to pick out the off leaves. I then beheld that there were mushrooms, tasty looking peppers, and snap peas among the spinach leaves (as well as the rare bit of chicken). I picked through the salad, adding what I liked to another slice of bread. I tossed the rest of the leftover salad and looked at my two open-faced sandwiches. I then wiped the knife with which I had sliced the cheese, firmly wrapped the cheese and replaced it on the shelf, grabbed a fork from the cutlery drawer, and extracted a bunch of pickles to put on the cheese and bread. Once all had been arranged nicely, I snacked on a few pickles before putting the pickle jar back into the refrigerator. I then put the empty salad bowl and the utensils, that had been left in it, into the sink (as I believe the dishwasher was full of clean dishes). I then carefully balanced each separate sandwich in each hand as I descended back into the depths of my basemen bedroom. I placed each sandwich on my dresser on my sewing kit and located this journal. It was then that I recounted this tale, pausing only to pet my cat, who was slumbering in my bed or glance over at my youngest sister, who was perusing Facebook. I then debated of which open-faced sandwich I would sink my teeth into first: the cheese and pickle or the salad?