Gobs of omlets and applesauce

I write this in love of my mother.  I happen to find myself in the realm of busying myself with the esoteric and elliptically orderly and universal beliefs and involvement and timeless journeys into my own soul and my mind and thus my writings and of course, at moments like these, there is the sanity of the world that dictates that your physical presence is the common denominator and thus in the case of tonight, there is a call for telling me where my meal will be (my mother and father whose home I am in today wanted to tell me where to get a meal since they were not going to be in the house for dinner tonight).  I guess it is wonderful to have caring relatives, but I attest that if you are writing about life, you are really not in the frame of existence to think about the physicality of your own today and tomorrow unless of course you are famished or in pain or suffering in some way.
So I must apologize for it is not my intent to smear or castigate those whom I have loving relationships, but damn it.  LET ME LIVE MY LIFE IN SOLACE AND HAPPINESS.  Thanks