Grotesque
Now I'll tell of the experience, making oat groats at 1 AM: Sleepless as a vampire, wander into the kitchen thinking of some num-num unneeded but yearned for I used to grab an ice cream, cookies, Monster drinks full of strange laboratory chemicals that would churn incessantly in my gut all night through a fevered fitful sleep tortured with Hieronymus Bosch visuals with stabbing pitchforks in my ample belly Nightly, I would find myself retching, head in bowl re-tasting everything my foolishness told me earlier to ingest. Then swallowing mouthfuls of bicarbonate of soda for the big aromatic burp. But now, oat groats ground in my coffee grinder and boiled in my rice cooker until a smooth gruel, add a smidgen of honey, and voila! certainly not as provocative as my former midnight snacks, but the answer to a restful snooze.