A Worm in Horseradish (Journal 7)

To a worm in horseradish, the whole world is horseradish.

—An old Yiddish saying

Take 1: Pungent and bitter, the acrid scent stings.   Just because I breathe through my skin doesn't mean the stink can't get to me.  I suppose I should be grateful; after all, a worm like me can eat my own body weight in food on any given day.  Usually, though, my prostomium protects my mouth, only letting those delectable bits in.  Now, though, my diet and my world is limited to this tangy and spicy sliminess.  I suppose I shouldn't be one to judge; after all, I secrete slime, too.  This is somehow different, though. 

Take 2: I wonder if I would have approached this prompt differently if I actually liked horseradish.  As it is, the only time I eat the stuff is in the cocktail sauce that drips from shrimp.  Otherwise, I think it's grotesque.  My dad used to eat it on his hot dogs, and he always seemed to like it, but as I only eat tofu-pups, I suppose I may have a slightly different take on the subject.

Take 3: Our world is what we make of it.  For the worm in question, the world may be horseradish.  For others, the world may be similarly limited to Maine or New England or North America.  My world has been expanded through travel and technology; it is much bigger than I can actually see or perceive.  This saying seems predicated on the notion that your world limited by what you sense in your environment.  This seems like far too narrow and prohibitive a definition to me.