I am not a very patient person. Patience is just one of those lovely virtues that I sorely lack. I have always been slightly more patient than the rest of my family, which leads them to believe that I am more patient. Let me tell you, I am definitely not.
So, as I wait in the Detroit airport for my rescheduled flight, I wonder how I would respond if I was a patient person. Would I just sit and wait like there was nothing wrong? Or would I internally pout at the thought of sitting in this hellhole for ten hours. Because I am already at six. Damn. At least my carry on bag is full of food, like this awesome Irish soda bread and organic grapes and dark chocolate (and milk chocolate...I like them both). My mom made me a ton of gingersnaps, walnut toffee, and gingerbread for me. I recently bought some super fresh and organic cayenne pepper, and some dehydrated mangoes. And some fresh mangoes for good measure.
Where I live in New York, there is little to no fresh food. Comparatively, back home is an organic dump. Everything is either processed into oblivion or right off the fresh, clean tree/vine/branch. That's just my life. My grandmother fed me lots of fruits and vegetables when I was younger. Now I love fresh food, and live really far away from all of it. My mom is looking into getting me a farm share.
To the best of my knowledge, a farm share is where a person buys the yield of a farm, and the owner delivers or has you pick up whatever they harvested that particular week. Sounds good right? Almost too good to be true.
Anyways, here I am ranting like someone is ever going to read this. I wish I could advertise for this without my direct family or immediate friends seeing it. And I know my sister would read this just to keep tabs on me. Ah well. If a real person not a computer stat machine actually reads this, then it will be a good day.
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