Why am I compelled to write the following? Something like desire for simple satisfaction when working on a novel.
How I love a jar of jam that is almost empty. There is not enough of it to get out with a knife. The shape of the jar is probably adorable. Depending on the jam and what else is in the house, I will fill the jar with yogurt and eat it. Or I will fill the jar with soy sauce ginger and chili for a marinade for fish tofu pork chicken. Or I will fill the jar with olive oil vinegar, salt for salad. And the process finishes the jam and cleans the jar and makes something else in the process. I guess I just like food.