HUNGER: part three of her working biography

Sometimes she didn't wear a bra when she went out places. She thought that perhaps the nicest thing about living one's day-to-day life in a woman's body was feeling that little jiggle of soft flesh when you moved. She liked a little jiggle with her movement. And she supposed she didn't really need a bra, at least not in the sense that some women needed one. Her breasts were small and she was actually more comfortable, in a practical, earthy sense, without one. She really only wore them for the push-up and perk-up they provided. She liked the way a good push-up could round out her top, making her clothing drape down over her in that soft way unique to round, doughy women. She thought that some women might be offended or insulted by the term doughy, but she liked it. It was a warm, hearty word. It tasted good in her mouth when she said it. Doughy. It meant soft, malleable, rich. Dough swelled with anticipation of heat. And then when exposed to that heat, it shamelessly imbibed the energy and blossomed into something that had the potential to fill all the senses with flavor or, at the very least, to get a reaction from those who encountered it.

For her things always existed at this most personal, intimate, bodily level. That was the way she felt and experienced things--all kinds of things. This was very personal and it wasn't really something she could share easily with other people. She counted on those few people in her life to just feel along with her through a warm, comfortable silence. She craved understanding and to be understood. She supposed life really was mostly just about hunger. She hungered to be listened to and questioned and listened to some more.

There were all different kinds of hunger. Hunger for food, yes, but also for knowledge, compassion, understanding, love, anger, pain, joy, comfort and any and every thing, feeling, or experience that one could crave, and all of this psychic hunger was always felt and experienced at the most basic bodily level. Yes, she supposed life really was mainly about hunger. You hungered for something, and maybe you'd be satiated. You'd get to taste something, savor it if you wanted, and then inevitably you'd shit it away and the hunger would start again. Maybe for more of the same, maybe for something else, or maybe you always hungered for something you could never have. Regardless, when you stopped hungering for things, that's when you'd die.