burnt rice

i planned it in my head, but didn't really think about it.

the rice would cook on a low heat for twenty minutes. and then i would take it off the heat for five minutes so it could steam.

but there was a problem.

the problem was that i forgot something. the fact that i am completely incapable of doing more than one thing at a time.

"simultaneously" is not an adjective i have often been associated with.

so instead of standing by the stove-edge, being somewhat involved in the rice-cooking process, I was about two metres away, on my laptop.

absorbed.

absolutely distracted.

i thought giving the rice the assigned twenty minutes was all i needed to do. i didn't think twice about what would be glaringly obvious to any normal person.

the simple and common-sense fact of life that leaving things alone on a hot stove is never a good idea.

never.

ever.

so once again, i learnt the hard way.

i burnt the rice. well, technically, half the rice.

and not only a little bit. the bottom of the pot is so thick-tar-black that i'm going to have to soak it overnight with water and vim before i can even try to get rid of the rice-shaped singes.

half the rice i could have eaten as lunch tomorrow is inside a plastic bag, in another plastic bag, in the bin.

and i can't help but laugh at myself, because the truth is, this realization has been coming for a while.

i've been saying things that bypass my neocortex and go straight from the beer-soaked part of my brain into the space outside my mouth.

often.

i've said things, out loud, that i've had no control over, it's like the entire processing unit responsible for common sense and rationality has been infected with stupid.

and it's funny.

it's funny because i tell people that i have a degree, and a postgraduate diploma. i'm even studying for another postgraduate qualification, that will probably lead to pursuing another.

i've mistakenly thought of these qualifications as safeguards against stupidity, that they disqualify me from being a dumbass.

i've been convinced that reading about existentialism and postcolonial psychopathology actually has some semblance of relevance to basic daily functioning.

but it doesn't. i'm either saying inane, ill-considered things, or i'm saying things that no one responds to because they have no idea what i'm talking about.

it's also funny because i'm writing about it. the very process that completely distracted me from focusing on what was important in the present in the first place, and caused me to stink out the kitchen with burnt.

it's hilarious, actually, because i've come to a sobering realization, after denying it for a long time, pretending that it wasn't true.

but the truth is i really am just a fucking idiot.