THIS SPACE FOR RENT

Don't look now but you have a big empty space inside of you.

Oh yes, you. No use denying it, all the psychology, self-help, zen-ish, Eckart Tolle (Oprah's flavor of the month) books remind us that we shall never be full and we must make peace with this emptiness within.

So, hey, you out there in blogger-reading land, just knock three times on the ceiling if you want me...oh, whoops, sorry, wrong Tony Orlando and Dawn Swan song...I mean, knock on that chest and tummy of yours and see if you hear an echo. Helllo in there! Anybody home?

Feeling empty within can mean a lot of things. In my case it often just means I am hungry. Yes, I am hungry often. There's the dreaded late night snack run to the kitchen (and in my house it really is a run...there is quite a lengthy hallway.) There is the mid afternoon "pick me up," consisting of anything with chocolate in it. If I continue with these late afternoon pick me ups, no one is going to be able to. Pick me up, that is.

There is of course the standard between meal snack that you have about 10 AM when your healthy oatmeal breakfast has taken the last train to Clarksville and you just have to hit the snack machine in the lobby (and hit it hard or that Almond Joy is not going to fall into your waiting hands.) Well at least an Almond Joy has fiber and something approaching a fruit component.

My inner emptiness was so great yesterday that I actually bought a bag of Kettle Salt and Pepper Potato Chips. Now, if you want to have a galactical experience akin to great tantric (not to be confused with frantic) sex, buy yourself a bag of these amazingly good chips (perhaps you prefer vinegar and salt or barbecue or jalapeno) and just sit down in a quiet place where you can be alone with your newly purchased beloved.

Communing in a meaningful way with a great potato chip takes a certain savoire faire. First you must open the bag respectfully, so that it can be re-closed (you *are* going to leave some chips in there, aren't you?) and not tear it the way you would rip off Brad Pitt's undershirt if he ever agreed to play Stanley in A Streetcar Named Desire. Whew, let's just take a time out here for a moment. Kettle Chips and Brad Pitt, too much of a good thing.

These Kettle chips have a satisfying heft to them. The crunch is rewarding. No namby pamby paper-thin greased up processed chips for my empty space. It had better be Kettle or nothing. And the way my waistline has been expanding lately, I think many of my readers would vote for the "nothing."

But then I will be all alone with my emptiness within. How can I make peace with this internal space? Meditation can help. Reading insightful books is a must. Siddhartic yoga breathing while hanging ever so gracefully from a gravity boot or two might improve the situation.

Hey, while I'm down here with my head touching the floor, pass me that bag of Kettle's lightly salted crinkle chips, will you? Thanks ever so.