I know there is nothing in the refrigerator that I can just pull out and snack on. I know the contents of my refrigerator, it’s emblazoned on my mind. I don’t know if I’m expecting something to catch my eye. I’m not physically hungry, yet every time I walk into the kitchen I open the refrigerator door.
There’s an odd satisfaction or sense of fulfillment that I get from opening the door. My adopted lebanese grandmother – God rest her – had worry beads (سبحة) and she was able to massage all of her unwanted juju into the surface of agate beads. I’ve come to the realization that the refrigerator door handle is the husky boy’s worry beads. I don’t have to eat, I don’t have to cook, I just grab the door handle; when it feels right… food.