The Kudzu Review
non-fiction
Munchies By Tessa Germani TW: drug use Oh, to be high and hungry. It is an inevitable predicament. One cannot deny the temptation of un-sober indulgence, a taste for something truly magical created only by a spectacle of drug-induced revelations. I sit in a milky daze—thinking aimlessly and shamelessly of conspiracy and cluelessness, in moments of misfortune and mental fragmentation and, suddenly…craving. I’m hungry. There is a moment to ponder the thought. It is a delicate decision. Do I go for something light and snacky or something nutritious and filling? Something hot and savory or something sickly and sweet? Something that will take thirty minutes to prepare or thirty seconds? Something that could fulfill the normal calorie intake of a meal or something that exceeds it? It is a rudimentary process. No matter how hard I try, the numbers on the label catch my eye, and for a moment I regress. Adolescent memories of mirror reflections and counting up to one thousand. Sometimes lower, sometimes higher. My hunger stills in fear, afraid of my hands and how they grab what they want. Until I remember that what I’m hungry for is not to be judged by government manufacturing and teenage girls online. Or by myself. Those numbers mean nothing when my stomach shakes in anticipation. It lets out a low moan, waiting for anything. It is not my hands that lead, but my heart. It would be unkind to leave a frail body starving. I think about the fridge. Brita. Two-day-old leftovers. Eggs. Okay, never mind the fridge. The pantry has endless possibilities. Yes—a true array of options that will not hesitate to satisfy the empty feeling. My eyes trail over Cheez-Its and blue boxes of Kraft macaroni. I go for the red box, digging my hand into the dusty lusciousness of extra cheesy crackers, and as I snack, I think. Soft,
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