In our series Writers’ Fridges, we bring you snapshots of the abyss that writers stare into most frequently: their refrigerators.

The thing about a fridge is we spend a lot of time standing in front of it wondering what’s inside. We don’t wanna necessarily open it because that will let all the cold air out, but I also like to think we stand in front of that closed door because we’re allowing ourselves to think that it holds something we truly want. Infinite possibilities. We are keeping hope alive!

Anyway, when I am standing in front of my fridge I know there is not any food in it so I pass the time by drawing pictures of my dog on the miniature whiteboard or by coming up with new phrases with the magnetic alphabet letters. The last iteration was “fuck boi.” I am a WRITER.

We are all out of everything, always. This checklist is inaccurate. It has been on that same page since the year of our lord 1444. The delivery guy has a better idea of what’s inside this fridge than I do.

See here, the “vegetable” drawer holds some items that I can’t remember purchasing. Every time I open the fridge door and look down at this closed drawer I am reminded not to open it because I do not know how old those little oranges are but they are certainly no longer “cuties.” They have passed well into their sunset years. Apparently there is a bagged salad in there? I can’t imagine who bought that, but it sure as hell wasn’t me. Again, I could check and see when these items expired, you know, could throw them out since they are rotting into liquid funk in the place that’s supposed to hold edible food stuffs, but let’s just forget about it. Let’s all move on together, shall we? I have eggs. That is one thing I always buy. I like a little fried egg in the middle of the night all coated with butter. This is a good way to burn yourself, drunk and frying an egg. I am not sure what’s in the takeout container but it probably came with fries.

Last weekend I went to the beach and my friends stopped by with a bunch of free beer. I brought this beer home and have been steadily drinking my way through it because oh my god, free beer. Yes, this is a jug of filtered water in my fridge and no, I am not the one drinking it. The cat loves cold filtered water for some reason? Yes, I am that messy person who gives her cat filtered water. Those are seltzers in my fridge because sometimes even I reach a point of dehydration where my brain tells me it might shut down if I don’t have one single glass of H2O. These are grapefruit flavored so I can truthfully tell people that I’ve had a fruit. Preventing scurvy, y’all.

There is some kind of cheese in that drawer but I guarantee you we shouldn’t try to eat any of it. I bought it when I wanted to make nachos [checks notes] five months ago. The takeout container is from the place that I ordered from so many times that the delivery driver dropped it off and said “your usual” to me – AGAIN. For some reason my ex-wife stuck potatoes in the fridge and every time I look at the bag of them I laugh so I’ve just let them sit there so I can keep laughing about it, forever and ever, amen.

Finally, dinner! All we needed to do was check the freezer. I bought both of these items BOGO at Publix and I am pleased to inform you that I’ve eaten almost all of them. This, the writer’s diet: pizza rolls so scalding hot they burn the skin clear off the roof of your mouth, followed quickly by a bite of sweet cooling ice cream. Ah, romance. L’amour. There is frozen chicken in here? Who bought that?

Another mystery item! A frozen seafood medley bought for I am not sure what and I am also not sure when and I have no idea why. I can only surmise this was a misguided past attempt on my part to buy multiple white wines thinking I would use one to make a “sauce” for some kind of pasta dish. After taking this picture I tried to throw the bag out but then was struck by the assorted items. I bought a bag of FROZEN SEA CREATURES. To CONSUME. I am gonna save this for after book tour and try to cook it then, successfully poisoning myself. Check back later.

My favorite item in the freezer. Nothing woos a date more than presenting them with an after-dinner choco taco. I’m just kidding, I would never invite a date back to my house. One time I let a friend have one after she drunkenly spied the box in the freezer and she took a single bite before stating she was “full.” Then she threw the package directly into the trash. Cars crashed. Angels wept. Dogs howled. Flames descended from the heavens. It was apocalyptic. I chugged my beer and prayed for death. Never again, I whispered, moved to tears. When I fall in love again, it will be to a woman who would never abandon a choco taco. No choco taco left behind. We will lovingly bite into either side of one, ala Lady and the Tramp, and our ice cream covered lips will meet in the center. If she’s truly the one for me, maybe I’ll even let her have the leftover nuts from the wrapper.

Kristin Arnett’s novel, Mostly Dead Things, is out this week.