I am inclined to thank God on all occasions for anything I have to eat. Even food regarded as “healthy” is a blessing to my belly, for we are to consider trials and tribulations as “pure joy.”
My family didn’t eat turkey this Thanksgiving. We didn’t eat it last year, either. Yes, we’re still mostly proud to call ourselves Americans. And yes, we’re thankful the pilgrims didn’t die out that first year. But, the simple truth is that we’re not very excited by turkey… at least not any more.
Not long after I wrote “Eating Outside the Box,” I decided to do a little experimental cooking. Truthfully, most of my cooking qualifies as experimental. My mother didn’t fail to equip me with common sense in this arena, but I did fail to store that priceless tutelage on something more permanent than mental RAM.
Ah, independence. You’re living on your own, making a mark on the world, and you’ve got a modest amount of free time to spend however you please. Go where you want to go, eat what you want to eat! Or more accurately, eat what you can afford to buy.
Every once in a while, I spoil myself with terrible food. That’s not to say the food tastes awful—though sometimes that’s true. I mean terrible from the standpoint of what my brain thinks about what my belly wants. It’s a war that usually ends in a stalemate; my belly feels the pang, but my brain won’t condone the notion.
In the quiet, in the calm. That’s where I’m most at home. A world without sound would be a prison, but a world engulfed by furor and frenzy is no different. Have you ever felt disconnected from reality while simultaneously plowing right through it? Have you ever become a mindless drone? A robot? A synthetic man or woman?
I’m not one for recipes, so I’ll keep this simple. If you’ve got some leftover chili and some flour tortillas, mix the two together. Add cheese. Presto! You’re done. Well, you’ll probably need to microwave the whole thing, but otherwise it’s ready to serve.
Oh, this poor neglected blog of mine. It was inevitable. Summer provided me with a healthy break from school, but fall whipped me back into line. In so doing, it sapped my creativity and a bit of my appetite. I’ve been eating less than usual, but what I’ve been eating is pretty usual and unexciting. Thus, with little time and little inspiration, this blog has grown neglected.
Fighting the writing. That’s what I’m doing. I’ve become horrendously overcome with apathy regarding each and every class. I don’t know why I don’t care, except that nothing in college seems to stir my interest. I’d much rather be writing “Sunday Knights VII: The Phantom Ultimatum.” Yup, I finally decided on a subtitle. Yay!
It never used to be this complicated. Back in the day, I just slapped whatever title came to mind onto my story and considered it gold. Now though, after years of literary analysis and academic writing, I’ve grown too intellectual for my own good. As if being anal-retentive wasn’t bad enough, my perfectionism refuses to accept anything less than the quintessential title for any given work (which is especially challenging given that I’m not finished with my current short story, so finding a title that encapsulates its essence is virtually