How I ended up with a bag of Bob's Red Mill Polenta is no longer a matter of record. The important thing is the basement, a place where a person of a certain height needed to sit down to put on a shirt. And every episode extant of Star Trek (excepting the original series, even i at the time could not), part one of a Teddy Roosevelt biography, with a two burner hot plate next to the laundry sink on the unfinished side of the so-called abode. i was lower case, under the clouds, feasting on gray lint on the forest green futon, where I dozed at all hours and poked away at mindless internet games. The bottom of the barrel was when i scraped up handfuls of uncooked yellow particles and masticated, seeing a grim face in the mirror who I won't forget, recognizing in the eyes and the jaw a will to survive, to live to follow instructions on a package and eat food to taste again one day.