The years close and an infinite supply of rotten peppers.

A minor note on decay.

My peppers are rotting.

They’re on my kitchen floor, stinking up the air with a tangy, musky smell of decay. The peppers themselves are slimy, covered in white fluff, and falling apart every time I pick them up with gloved fingers.

The end of the year has brought me death in the form of peppers and I can’t help but wonder what that means. Whether it’s that I, myself, am decaying, or that my dreams of staying healthy and sane and likeable are rotting in a warm deep freezer, or that I’m still being overdramatic, 365 days after you.

Anyways, these peppers have put a damper on my mood, and I am no longer excited for the new year. Not that I was all that excited anyways, because I don’t have many reasons to suspect that anything would change. Not from the way I woke up this morning, on New Year’s Eve with the smell of rotting vegetables filtering through my nose hairs and immediately thinking “I would like to be asleep some more.”

You told me once, 365 days ago, that decay signifies life. Something new is birthed from something old and I laughed at you because even though you were somewhat right, I found it funny that you, of all people, were trying to convince me to hope for more. I stayed so firmly in your shadow because “more” wasn’t in my vocabulary.

Now, I’m stuck with peppers.

You have moved on, frustratingly so, and although your shadow is long gone, I’m still wiping remnants of old, soggy peppers off of my hands, on the last day of the year.

If there’s anything that tells me, it’s that it’s dangerous to be alone on days like this. When I’m with someone, rotting peppers seem funny, because I can’t lose face when a person is watching me. I’d laugh, fake cry, stomp around in a haphazard manner and the person would laugh, because misery looks funnier on other people.

But I’m alone. I don’t have then energy to overreact, or fake laugh, because why would I fake laugh to myself? That’s stupid, no, instead I’m blankly staring at the bowl of decay, my messy kitchen, my mouldy floors, and everything else that makes being alone so much more mind numbingly painful. Dealing with rotten peppers alone is painful.

I call my mum later in the day and I tell her that my peppers are rotting. She yells at me for a bit, complaining that I’ve ruined her peppers, and her deep freezer, and her body. And then her voice softens because she realises that I’m not responding. It’s often like this, loud and then soft and then loud and then soft again. She asks me if I want her to come over and beneath my tears I say yes. She says okay, and then follows with “I love you.” That makes me laugh, and it’s not fake.

when she hangs up the phone, I place my own down and stare at the peppers. 10 days of slow, bacterial rotting, 365 days of crying over you, 4 days of neglecting to call my mum. I’m beginning to notice the newness you mentioned, the signs of life the rears it’s head when you open the window. It’s cold but mum likes the cold, so she’d appreciate that. I appreciate it too, actually. The smell slowly sifts out the window and is replaced with something fresh, light rain, and for a few moments, I’m no longer thinking about the peppers.