Limbo

Today feels like I'm floating in a sea of life-directional ambiguity.

See this Hyperbole & a Half post from last year for disambiguation of my personal ambiguity.

I've gotten things accomplished to be sure (booked flights, had a voice lesson, submitted my FAFSA, rented the movie for drama club today), but I'm having one of those days when looking into the future beyond, oh, two minutes from now, seems like a chore.  And having to make decisions that impact the outcome of that two-minutes-from-now future is absolutely daunting.

For example, it took me much more time and driving around than I anticipated to figure out what I wanted for lunch.

All I knew was I wanted pineapple.

(Thank God I at least knew that!)

Where could I find someplace in T-Town that would satiate my need for fruity deliciousness without breaking my currently teeny-tiny bank before I had to forfeit a noontime meal which would then surely lead to my death from scurvy?  (I can only assume such a strong hankering for pineapple stems from an acute Vitamin C deficiency.)  Someplace where I don't resort to a drive-thru, some form of deep fried chicken and a side of fries.  Even better, someplace I don't normally go.  I was honestly daydreaming a little bit about a quesadilla I had in NOLA a while back (see where my brain still is?) that had shrimp and this yummy pineapple salsa, but I knew that was not a possibility in central West Alabama. 

Miles later with dollar signs flashing across my gas gauge, my brain finally decided on something resembling pineapple pizza.  Be it a calzone from Mellow Mushroom or a sub from Hungry Howie's, I was going to get my pineapple fix that way.  I was driving through the Strip, intending to go to Howie for my relatively inexpensive blend of mozzarella, tomato sauce and canned pineapple wrapped in buttery baked dough, when I remembered Little Italy.

Ah, yes.  Little Italy...


$3.92 later, I'm enjoying a ginormous slice of pineapple pizza and a lemonade. 

Forget GiGi's Cupcakes!

People should be waiting 45 minutes for a slice of this pie.
(But that's another reason why I love Little Italy--you don't have to.)

One decision at a time, I'll become an adult.  Maybe even a successful one (my satisfied tummy seems to think so right now!).

Till then, I'll dance in Limbo.