How do you know who is who when you’re all jumbled?

Who is the victor, and who is the potato peeler?

Thats me, sitting here, peeling potatoes. 

Potatoes have soft movable flesh, like humans, like all living things really.  When you peel us down, really all the way down, what do you get?

Dirty skin and pure flesh. Edible, consumable goods.  Delicious.

I used to love LOVE potatoes.  Now they are my least favorite thing. 

It’s not just that I peel hundreds of them, its the sadness of the potatoes becoming one mash, one mass, one goo of substance. 

How do you know which potato is which?  Its mashed together and lost. 

It all tastes the same.

I’m peeling potatoes and I’m thinking, maybe to the boss I’m a lowly potato-drudge.  But to the potatoes I am god.  Goddess.  I am the patron Goddess of Potatoes.  


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