The following is my thought process while cooking a Moroccan Cottage Pie.
1) I'm going to have to touch raw meat, aren't I? So gross. No, wait, I can just use the wooden spoon to hurl the meat in the pot! SCORE!
2) Try & make me cry, onion? Huh? HUH? Who's tough now! Who's not crying & also not diced! That would be me, loser! Take that!
3) Oh crap, that plate I so carefully lined with paper towels isn't going to take more than half this meat! Crap, crap, crap! There goes another dish for me to wash.
4) I don't need measuring spoons, I know what a 1/2 teaspoon looks like . . . don't I? Was that too much ginger? Crap, it was! Maybe if I add more of the other spices it'll all come even.
5) "Add the tomato paste"? WTF?!? This recipe did not say I needed tomato paste! THERE IS NO TOMATO PASTE MENTIONED IN THE LIST OF INGREDIENTS, SO YOU CAN GO SUCK A FAT--oh wait, there it is. Lucky I keep the tube of tomato paste around in case of such emergencies.
6) OMG, when I added the red wine to the pot, the purple separated from the rest of the liquid! I am SO not drinking any of that. This bottle can stay in the fridge till we've moved out.
7) This pot isn't going to be big enough for the meat to soak in the liquid--no, just enough room as long as I don't need to stir. Who ever heard of stirring stew, anyway? Sounds like loser talk.
8) Now for the mashed sweet potatoes to go on top. I totally got this. Mashed potatoes are impossible to screw up.
9) !#%&, how did Wook-Wook separate the egg yolks out last time we made this? I wasn't paying attention. I need them now, what to do, what to do? Wait, I have fingers! Genius!
10) Idiot.
11) So gross.
12) Where the !#%& did the soap go? I need to wash my hands five minutes ago!
13) All right, we're on the back stretch now. The stew is in the casserole dish, now to spread the mash on top & throw it in the oven to have some alone time.
14) F*CK! $H*T! F*CK$H*T!!!! THAT WAS TOO MUCH NUTMEG! NOOOOOOOO!
15) No, wait, it looks just like the picture, aside from the fact I didn't pipe the potatoes on top of the pie. What am I, British? I ain't got time for that.
16) Damn, this smells good. But now I'm not hungry . . .
Stay tuned for my continuing kitchen adventures! Next Episode: "Bread Without a Maker".
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Monday, November 25, 2013
Perfume, Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying & Love the Cat Piss
Any of my Facebook friends could tell you that I love perfume. It will pop up in a status at least 2-3 times a month, depending if I've discovered a new scented gem recently. It's been that way for a long time now, and I am not afraid to let my Freaky-Fragrance-Flag fly!
Some of my earliest memories are of being at my Grandma Rachel's house, playing dress-up with her clothes and clip-on earrings. She always had a bottle of Avon Charisma, along with samples of others. I can't remember how it smelled, not precisely. A quick Internet search will yield a list of notes: top notes of aldehydes, bergamot, coriander, heart notes of carnation, jasmine, rose, ylang-ylang and a base of sandalwood, amber, civet, musk, tonka bean and styrax. If we were to be able to smell this now, the typical reaction would be "Uck! Old-lady perfume!" I certainly would have had that reaction a few years ago, my nose having been trained to love CLEAN! fragrances, fruity-florals, and big gourmands (think cupcakes). We'll come back to Charisma a bit later. For now, step forward to the late nineties.
Green tea perfumes were big. Calvin Klein's One was the big unisex scent, and it was a breath of fresh air after the 80s Poison, Opium and Obsession. If memory serves, Cool Water also debuted during the nineties, but I could be off there. I was sixteen and just getting into makeup when I received a sample of Clinique Happy from somewhere. If you haven't worn it or smelled it, I can tell you it's a bright citrusy-floral fragrance, perfect for spring and summer since it has no "dark" notes to it whatsoever. I still have a bottle today, half-used, and it still reminds me of being a teenager back before the Internet got big. I also loved Tommy Girl, another fruity floral that also had a nice spicy tea note to it. Those were my go-tos for many years.
"But where is the Cat-Piss I was promised, O Great and Powerful Blog-Mistress?" I'm getting to it, Hypothetical Readers. To get there, we have to enter the world of Niche Fragrance. You can only rarely find Niche perfume at department stores, so not many people even know it exists. It's not just expensive perfume, many of the lower-costing niche perfumes are comparable to what you'd pay at the drugstore or department store. Anyway, I discovered it when I was trying to find perfume reviews online for Charisma. I was missing my grandmother and trying to figure out if I could snag a bottle of it somewhere still. Sadly, it's discontinued, but what I did find was reviews of fragrances I had never even heard of, along with links to online stores that I could buy samples of them from. Now we are talking!
Two full bottles I purchased right away were l'Heure Bleue and Mitsouko, both very old-fashioned perfumes by Guerlain. To give you an idea just how old, lHB was first released in 1912, Mitsouko in 1919. Neither one of them smell "old lady" to me in the least. I loved Mitsouko right away: on me it opens up with a nice spicy blast of cinnamon, pepper & some anise (think black licorice) and goes on to luscious ripe peaches. If I had to wear one perfume only for the rest of my life--wait, hold on, that's just crazy talk. Not happening. But I can say that it is an awesome go-anywhere perfume.
l'Heure Bleue was much more difficult. It also opens up with a spicy note, but it is much more medicinal, sometimes reminding me of Vicks. There's orange blossoms, iris, jasmine and vanilla along the way, but the opening just about does me in. It's much better to wear in very cold weather, that way I don't feel suffocated.
Now we come to the Cat Piss--er, Musc Ravageur by Frederic Malle. If you google this one don't blame me for the sticker shock, I didn't price it. This was among the samples I ordered, and it is a dark little piece of animalic notes. The opening is bergamot and cinnamon and I swear they snuck cat piss in it too. The drydown is a lovely growl of dark vanilla, musk and amber, but that opening! I couldn't deal with it when I first tried it, plus the price tag for a full bottle put me off, so I told myself I'd be happy with Vanilla Musk (Yes, that's the drugstore fragrance by Coty that you can get for under $20. See, I can be economical).
The perfume that sent me over the edge, though, was Rien by Etat Libre d'Orange. Think musty old lady perfume with all the florals stripped out and there you have Rien. Spicy, mossy, leathery, it is a cheerfully insane challenge to every bubblegum celebrity fragrance out there. It refuses to play nice. I love it and so does Wook-Wook. Unfortunately, whatever it did to my nose means I now love the expensive Cat Piss perfume as well! Did it hit the reset button or something? I would really rather not pay $250 for a bottle of perfume, no matter how insane I get about it.
Anyway, I need to wrap this one up (that's what he said). It started out as a journey of remembering my grandmother, and while I haven't found a bottle of Charisma at a thrift store yet, I did come across a perfume I swear smells like what I remember it to be. Another vintage, discontinued fragrance, Intimate by Revlon, it opens up with coriander-spiked white florals with a nice mossy-murky drydown. I wear it and remember Grandma Rachel puttering around in the kitchen, playing ragtime piano on her spinet, or walking around her small-town neighborhood.
Some of my earliest memories are of being at my Grandma Rachel's house, playing dress-up with her clothes and clip-on earrings. She always had a bottle of Avon Charisma, along with samples of others. I can't remember how it smelled, not precisely. A quick Internet search will yield a list of notes: top notes of aldehydes, bergamot, coriander, heart notes of carnation, jasmine, rose, ylang-ylang and a base of sandalwood, amber, civet, musk, tonka bean and styrax. If we were to be able to smell this now, the typical reaction would be "Uck! Old-lady perfume!" I certainly would have had that reaction a few years ago, my nose having been trained to love CLEAN! fragrances, fruity-florals, and big gourmands (think cupcakes). We'll come back to Charisma a bit later. For now, step forward to the late nineties.
Green tea perfumes were big. Calvin Klein's One was the big unisex scent, and it was a breath of fresh air after the 80s Poison, Opium and Obsession. If memory serves, Cool Water also debuted during the nineties, but I could be off there. I was sixteen and just getting into makeup when I received a sample of Clinique Happy from somewhere. If you haven't worn it or smelled it, I can tell you it's a bright citrusy-floral fragrance, perfect for spring and summer since it has no "dark" notes to it whatsoever. I still have a bottle today, half-used, and it still reminds me of being a teenager back before the Internet got big. I also loved Tommy Girl, another fruity floral that also had a nice spicy tea note to it. Those were my go-tos for many years.
"But where is the Cat-Piss I was promised, O Great and Powerful Blog-Mistress?" I'm getting to it, Hypothetical Readers. To get there, we have to enter the world of Niche Fragrance. You can only rarely find Niche perfume at department stores, so not many people even know it exists. It's not just expensive perfume, many of the lower-costing niche perfumes are comparable to what you'd pay at the drugstore or department store. Anyway, I discovered it when I was trying to find perfume reviews online for Charisma. I was missing my grandmother and trying to figure out if I could snag a bottle of it somewhere still. Sadly, it's discontinued, but what I did find was reviews of fragrances I had never even heard of, along with links to online stores that I could buy samples of them from. Now we are talking!
Two full bottles I purchased right away were l'Heure Bleue and Mitsouko, both very old-fashioned perfumes by Guerlain. To give you an idea just how old, lHB was first released in 1912, Mitsouko in 1919. Neither one of them smell "old lady" to me in the least. I loved Mitsouko right away: on me it opens up with a nice spicy blast of cinnamon, pepper & some anise (think black licorice) and goes on to luscious ripe peaches. If I had to wear one perfume only for the rest of my life--wait, hold on, that's just crazy talk. Not happening. But I can say that it is an awesome go-anywhere perfume.
l'Heure Bleue was much more difficult. It also opens up with a spicy note, but it is much more medicinal, sometimes reminding me of Vicks. There's orange blossoms, iris, jasmine and vanilla along the way, but the opening just about does me in. It's much better to wear in very cold weather, that way I don't feel suffocated.
Now we come to the Cat Piss--er, Musc Ravageur by Frederic Malle. If you google this one don't blame me for the sticker shock, I didn't price it. This was among the samples I ordered, and it is a dark little piece of animalic notes. The opening is bergamot and cinnamon and I swear they snuck cat piss in it too. The drydown is a lovely growl of dark vanilla, musk and amber, but that opening! I couldn't deal with it when I first tried it, plus the price tag for a full bottle put me off, so I told myself I'd be happy with Vanilla Musk (Yes, that's the drugstore fragrance by Coty that you can get for under $20. See, I can be economical).
The perfume that sent me over the edge, though, was Rien by Etat Libre d'Orange. Think musty old lady perfume with all the florals stripped out and there you have Rien. Spicy, mossy, leathery, it is a cheerfully insane challenge to every bubblegum celebrity fragrance out there. It refuses to play nice. I love it and so does Wook-Wook. Unfortunately, whatever it did to my nose means I now love the expensive Cat Piss perfume as well! Did it hit the reset button or something? I would really rather not pay $250 for a bottle of perfume, no matter how insane I get about it.
Anyway, I need to wrap this one up (that's what he said). It started out as a journey of remembering my grandmother, and while I haven't found a bottle of Charisma at a thrift store yet, I did come across a perfume I swear smells like what I remember it to be. Another vintage, discontinued fragrance, Intimate by Revlon, it opens up with coriander-spiked white florals with a nice mossy-murky drydown. I wear it and remember Grandma Rachel puttering around in the kitchen, playing ragtime piano on her spinet, or walking around her small-town neighborhood.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
One Year Later
I keep tripping myself up, trying to get this entry written. I've tried to get it all down before, but the words twist away from me, and the meaning is never as plain as what I see in my head. It's gotten to the point that the title should actually be "One Year & Two Months Later", but I'm not one for splitting hairs. So I decided to just type until I think I'm done.
In July 2012, my most recent attempt at a relationship had fizzled out. The last couple of times this had happened, I had turned into a pathetic puddle of tears and spiraled deeper into depression ( a post for another day, trust me). I lost weight and sleep and withdrew further into myself till I was sure no one would ever be able to coax me out. Then someone would come along, dangling more empty words, only seeing me as a body or pretty face, and I would be naive enough to fall for it.
This last time? It may have taken 28 years, but I finally had some steel in my soul. The closest I got to crying over him--let's call him Slimey McDoucheFace--was when I took myself to Olive Garden for a birthday lunch. I'm bad at keeping friends, so it was lunch alone. I ordered wine, so the waitress carded me. When she saw my birthdate, she immediately said, "Oh wow! It's my son's birthday today too!" She brought out a mini dessert for free after I was done with my pasta, and I just really appreciated that she was nice to me, because I was a bit miserable despite my inner monologue stating "Fine, then, if that's how it's going to be, f*ck every last one of you mother's sons!" and my heart agreeing rather than wanting to weep. After that, I felt like a kite with its strings cut, and rather than crashing back to Earth, I was realizing I could fly on my own the whole time.
Next:
SCENE CHANGE: BASEMENT OF LEGEND COMICS AND COFFEE. WEDNESDAY NIGHT. DnD ENCOUNTERS
Enter the Wook-Wook. I first met him at Krypton when he showed up for Encounters one day, playing as a halfling named Kibbles n Bits. About my height, dark hair and eyes, epic beard. I had invited several Facebook friends out for birthday drinks the previous Saturday since my birthday was on a Tuesday. He hadn't shown up and I didn't think anything of it. He walked up to me after the game and asked if I wanted to grab a drink at the Library. He claims I immediately turned bright red and I have no photographic proof to say otherwise. I stuttered out a "Yes" while the DM smirked and one of the other players chanted "DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!" Thanks guys.
Nothing stands out to me too much about that drink. It was a milk stout, probably Moojoos. We made somewhat awkward small talk since I have a -3 to my Charisma. The one thing that stood out, which I've mentioned before, was that he didn't laugh at my major.
After that, a few weeks went by. I'm bad at being able to tell if a guy is interested in me, so I didn't think anything was really going to come of that drink. According to Wook-Wook, the reason he didn't ask me out right away was because I kept running out of the basement at DnD while he was preparing the chloroformed rag.
Once he did though, that was pretty much it. We'd go to either my house or his on weekends to have Joss Whedon marathons, getting through Firefly (still can't take the sky from me), Dollhouse (WTF was up with the series finale?!?) and Angel (nothing to say other than still perfection). We'd discuss all the most recent Cracked.com articles and get each other to read old archived ones we liked. He got me to go try hole-in-the-wall restaurants I would have probably overlooked, and I introduced him to Darren Aronofsky films.
Anyway, one year and a couple of months later, that's it. Nothing very romantic and fluffy to it aside from afternoon cuddles, no roses or poetry. Lasting love isn't all about swooning and sparkles (I'm looking at you, Twilight). The thing about fireworks is that they burn out, leaving the night just as dark as if they were never there at all. Sometimes after a long walk out in the cold alone, all you want is someone you can trust to be at home to warm you up after.
In July 2012, my most recent attempt at a relationship had fizzled out. The last couple of times this had happened, I had turned into a pathetic puddle of tears and spiraled deeper into depression ( a post for another day, trust me). I lost weight and sleep and withdrew further into myself till I was sure no one would ever be able to coax me out. Then someone would come along, dangling more empty words, only seeing me as a body or pretty face, and I would be naive enough to fall for it.
This last time? It may have taken 28 years, but I finally had some steel in my soul. The closest I got to crying over him--let's call him Slimey McDoucheFace--was when I took myself to Olive Garden for a birthday lunch. I'm bad at keeping friends, so it was lunch alone. I ordered wine, so the waitress carded me. When she saw my birthdate, she immediately said, "Oh wow! It's my son's birthday today too!" She brought out a mini dessert for free after I was done with my pasta, and I just really appreciated that she was nice to me, because I was a bit miserable despite my inner monologue stating "Fine, then, if that's how it's going to be, f*ck every last one of you mother's sons!" and my heart agreeing rather than wanting to weep. After that, I felt like a kite with its strings cut, and rather than crashing back to Earth, I was realizing I could fly on my own the whole time.
Next:
SCENE CHANGE: BASEMENT OF LEGEND COMICS AND COFFEE. WEDNESDAY NIGHT. DnD ENCOUNTERS
Enter the Wook-Wook. I first met him at Krypton when he showed up for Encounters one day, playing as a halfling named Kibbles n Bits. About my height, dark hair and eyes, epic beard. I had invited several Facebook friends out for birthday drinks the previous Saturday since my birthday was on a Tuesday. He hadn't shown up and I didn't think anything of it. He walked up to me after the game and asked if I wanted to grab a drink at the Library. He claims I immediately turned bright red and I have no photographic proof to say otherwise. I stuttered out a "Yes" while the DM smirked and one of the other players chanted "DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!" Thanks guys.
Nothing stands out to me too much about that drink. It was a milk stout, probably Moojoos. We made somewhat awkward small talk since I have a -3 to my Charisma. The one thing that stood out, which I've mentioned before, was that he didn't laugh at my major.
After that, a few weeks went by. I'm bad at being able to tell if a guy is interested in me, so I didn't think anything was really going to come of that drink. According to Wook-Wook, the reason he didn't ask me out right away was because I kept running out of the basement at DnD while he was preparing the chloroformed rag.
Once he did though, that was pretty much it. We'd go to either my house or his on weekends to have Joss Whedon marathons, getting through Firefly (still can't take the sky from me), Dollhouse (WTF was up with the series finale?!?) and Angel (nothing to say other than still perfection). We'd discuss all the most recent Cracked.com articles and get each other to read old archived ones we liked. He got me to go try hole-in-the-wall restaurants I would have probably overlooked, and I introduced him to Darren Aronofsky films.
Anyway, one year and a couple of months later, that's it. Nothing very romantic and fluffy to it aside from afternoon cuddles, no roses or poetry. Lasting love isn't all about swooning and sparkles (I'm looking at you, Twilight). The thing about fireworks is that they burn out, leaving the night just as dark as if they were never there at all. Sometimes after a long walk out in the cold alone, all you want is someone you can trust to be at home to warm you up after.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Adrift
Somewhere here recently, I think I lost the plot.
It's not the first time it's happened. The story that they told my generation was, "After high school, go to college. Your dream job will be waiting for you after. Just keep your hands inside the cart and your harness buckled until the ride comes to a complete stop."
Don't look at me like that. I know how naive it was. Five years after graduating I'm finally grasping how much work everything takes, and how much of an entitled privileged white girl I was for thinking it would be handed to me. If I had the opportunity to go back to 2008 or 2009 to meet myself for a day to pass along some wisdom, I would squander 23 hours and 55 minutes just slapping that b*tch nonstop. The last five minutes would be spent either dishing out some tough love, or more of the slapping. It depends how much I would end up pissing myself off.
In the end, I've come to terms with all that. I mostly manage not to mope about wasted time chasing things that I couldn't have. Really. I tend to blog when I'm feeling down and need to express some feelings that are a bit too big for my voice.
Just recently, that lost feeling is because we're moving soon. Despite that it's not very far, it's got me edgy. Maybe because for a few of the times I've moved, I did it feeling like my world had caved in and my only option was to dig out and leave everything behind. Similar scenarios evoke the same feelings, even if it couldn't be further from the truth. Some people take well to moves; I usually have a bit of anxiety about them. I'll mope around in the new place for a few days, wishing for the old place if for no other reason than the familiarity.
I know this will pass. I will make the new place home too, find new places to explore and new things to do. When that lost feeling gets to be a bit much, I console myself with the thought that I never could've imagined being here, yet it's also exactly what I need.
It's not the first time it's happened. The story that they told my generation was, "After high school, go to college. Your dream job will be waiting for you after. Just keep your hands inside the cart and your harness buckled until the ride comes to a complete stop."
Don't look at me like that. I know how naive it was. Five years after graduating I'm finally grasping how much work everything takes, and how much of an entitled privileged white girl I was for thinking it would be handed to me. If I had the opportunity to go back to 2008 or 2009 to meet myself for a day to pass along some wisdom, I would squander 23 hours and 55 minutes just slapping that b*tch nonstop. The last five minutes would be spent either dishing out some tough love, or more of the slapping. It depends how much I would end up pissing myself off.
In the end, I've come to terms with all that. I mostly manage not to mope about wasted time chasing things that I couldn't have. Really. I tend to blog when I'm feeling down and need to express some feelings that are a bit too big for my voice.
Just recently, that lost feeling is because we're moving soon. Despite that it's not very far, it's got me edgy. Maybe because for a few of the times I've moved, I did it feeling like my world had caved in and my only option was to dig out and leave everything behind. Similar scenarios evoke the same feelings, even if it couldn't be further from the truth. Some people take well to moves; I usually have a bit of anxiety about them. I'll mope around in the new place for a few days, wishing for the old place if for no other reason than the familiarity.
I know this will pass. I will make the new place home too, find new places to explore and new things to do. When that lost feeling gets to be a bit much, I console myself with the thought that I never could've imagined being here, yet it's also exactly what I need.
Friday, August 30, 2013
In the Desert
Writing about myself feels like pulling last week's leftovers from the bottom of the fridge & trying to convince myself that I'm still hungry for them. Except that there's an added element of danger in writing, because there's never the emotional equivalent of a bear trap lurking in your leftovers. There's possible food poisoning, but that's only risking a day spent on/near the toilet. Dredging up old memories to try & write about them--SNAP!
When I'm happy with my life, I just want to live it. Enjoy every moment, whether it's trying out a new restaurant with Wook-Wook, or smoking a cigar on the front lawn. I'd add in the occasional vodka tonic but it's not October 30th yet, so that will have to wait. Only 60 days to go!
The times I've been sad, or discontented, or furious? I just want them over with, & once they're gone, I want them to stay where I put them. I'm still bitter as hell over what I've gone through. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth to remember & it's draining. Why bother? Why not just let those memories sit on the bottom shelf until they've disintegrated?
What good does it do to remember how it felt to realize I was nothing but a body to the guys I dated? That sickening feeling of being flesh & only flesh, that it didn't matter what I thought or what I felt or what I hoped & dreamed for. That all was just a minor annoyance to deal with to them.
To remember that I failed a lot of my friends? I avoided phone calls & texts & made excuses so I could stay at home & brood. There was a sense of wanting to spare them from seeing me so depressed, but I know I pushed them away. That was me, not the depression.
To remember what I dreamed about having at this point in my life? I have the feeling a lot of people, even if they're happy with how their life is now, just like me, they still remember the "could haves" & get sad.
Why? Because it is bitter. And because it is my heart.
When I'm happy with my life, I just want to live it. Enjoy every moment, whether it's trying out a new restaurant with Wook-Wook, or smoking a cigar on the front lawn. I'd add in the occasional vodka tonic but it's not October 30th yet, so that will have to wait. Only 60 days to go!
The times I've been sad, or discontented, or furious? I just want them over with, & once they're gone, I want them to stay where I put them. I'm still bitter as hell over what I've gone through. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth to remember & it's draining. Why bother? Why not just let those memories sit on the bottom shelf until they've disintegrated?
What good does it do to remember how it felt to realize I was nothing but a body to the guys I dated? That sickening feeling of being flesh & only flesh, that it didn't matter what I thought or what I felt or what I hoped & dreamed for. That all was just a minor annoyance to deal with to them.
To remember that I failed a lot of my friends? I avoided phone calls & texts & made excuses so I could stay at home & brood. There was a sense of wanting to spare them from seeing me so depressed, but I know I pushed them away. That was me, not the depression.
To remember what I dreamed about having at this point in my life? I have the feeling a lot of people, even if they're happy with how their life is now, just like me, they still remember the "could haves" & get sad.
Why? Because it is bitter. And because it is my heart.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Doubt
Ever since I graduated, I've drifted. I'm now at the point where I have a job that pays well, compared to minimum wage, rent & my bills are always paid on time, & I have some left over each month to save against a rainy day. Still though, that drive that says, "You should have more" won't stop.
I want to own my own home at some point. At the same time, I'm almost thirty & I don't know where my career is going. I don't even know that I have a "career" or just a "job". There is a difference, & I wouldn't want to gamble a mortgage on it. I don't have the funds for a down payment or enough to act as my own landlord. Plumbing breaks down in an apartment, you call maintenance & maybe have to go to the gas station to use the bathroom & skip a shower for the day. In a house, you shell out however much the plumber will charge & choose between gas & groceries until payday.
I think about the time I wasted after graduation feeling sorry for myself & I squirm. I was where I was due to my own life choices. Only myself to blame. I could have gone to graduate school, or chosen a different major. I could have gotten out more & met more people. That whole year after is the one I wish I could change.
I know where I go depends on me & what I choose to do. I'm not sure what that may be. Lately I've been wanting to get more education. MIT has their open courseware that I've begun to explore. I may start with that & see where it goes. I could go back for my MFA in creative writing, though that doesn't have a lot of appeal. The other option I started to look into is law school. For requirements, you don't need a specific undergraduate degree. There's the application process & having to take the LSATs. There's also the time & money concerns. If it helps to improve my prospects, though, it could be worthwhile.
It's always the time that I come back to. I'm at the age a woman almost has to choose between family & career goals. I don't want to have a baby anytime soon with how uncertain everything feels. I'm aware that I have a window, however, & that I might not know how limited it is until I'm seriously attempting it. I've gotten very selfish with how I spend my time, & I don't want to waste any more of it.
I'm tired of having to answer the questions I ask myself with "I don't know". "Where will you be in five years?" "Where do you want to live?" "What kind of job do you want to have?"
Friday, August 2, 2013
Only 90 days to go
This past Monday, after downing a vodka-tonic & a vodka-lemonade, I decided I was going to stop drinking for the next 3 months. It was for vanity reasons, I'll admit. I've noticed that I've gained weight & just generally had a puffy, bloated feeling for some time now.
I woke up Tuesday with a relatively bad hangover: headache, nausea & feeling faint because I was dehydrated. I spent the day drinking water at work & by 5, I felt back to "normal." That night, no drinks. It wasn't hard to do, given how sick I had felt that morning.
What I didn't realize was how much drinking had insinuated itself into my life.
I woke up Wednesday with my body ready to battle the headache & nausea again. It almost felt like it was there for real, until I reminded myself I hadn't had anything to drink. Then I relaxed. That's also happened the last 2 mornings as well, my body bracing against the expected pain, then relaxing when it hasn't come.
That tells me I've been drinking more than I should have been. My body needs this break. I don't like to throw around the word, "addict," mostly because I've known a few & it's something that some of my family members have struggled with. To say that I'm one seems to trivialize it. I haven't had cravings to drink again, granted it's only been 3 days now, but it's been relatively easy for me. I've seen people that literally couldn't go a full day without a drink or a joint unless they were incarcerated.
In the coming weeks, I may change my mind, of course. I'm still at the start of this, after all. I really didn't think my body would be bracing for a hangover every morning, so that proves I don't have full insight quite yet.
I decided that if I make it to October 30th without drinking, I will buy myself a bottle. Not of alcohol, but perfume. I recently bought a sample of Lyric Woman by Amouage & fell in love with it. It's a smoky, mossy, spicy rose with an incense & cardamom-drenched drydown. It's also $275 for a 50 ml bottle. However, the 100 ml bottle is only $315. It's like they're giving me 50 more mls just for spending $40 more.
On that note, I will wrap this up with a self-portrait I took in my bedroom just now. I have no idea if not drinking is going to have an effect on my looks or not, but I did want to take a picture in case there is one.
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Monday, July 22, 2013
The Question . . .
Once in a while, I read a line in a book that stays with me. This one comes from a book I read in college, American Pastoral by Philip Roth:
“Never in his life had occasion to ask himself, "Why are things the way they are?" Why should he bother, when the way they were was always perfect? Why are things the way they are? The question to which there is no answer, and up till then he was so blessed he didn't even know the question existed.”
It's the truth. We are all so blessed that when senseless things happen, we ask, "Why?" It's easy to forget that so much of human history has been utter misery. Mumps, measles, whooping cough & polio once took a deadly toll on children; now they are all easily preventable by getting vaccinated.
Once upon a time, if a mother's blood type was incompatible with her baby's, both their lives could be in danger. There could be a miscarriage, or the baby could be born with Rhesus Disease. Some historians think this is why Anne Boleyn was never able to bear a living child after Elizabeth I was born. Now a shot can prevent this from ever happening.
There have been times when I had to choose between buying gas for my car or groceries. If I chose groceries, I ran the risk of not being able to get to work and missing out on 8 hours of pay. If I chose gas . . . well, I already knew feeling hungry wouldn't kill me. Even then, though, I knew I had a sort of safety net. I could ask my family to buy a few groceries to get through to payday.
In short, in America we have been born into a land of abundance. I'm not saying there's no one that went to bed hungry in the US last night, or that we're not plagued by violence, death and sickness. I'm saying we've been told that this abundance is the norm, it can go on forever, and we will always keep improving.
I don't think we can. My generation has been taught to consume. That we don't have to give back. That we can leave it up to others to change things, now cut out that press conference and get back to that "Modern Family" rerun. What will happen when we're in charge?
It's almost criminal how we don't give back. We look at all the blessings of our life, and our answer is, "More. I want the man/woman that I want and I won't settle for anyone else. If they reject me I will never let anyone else in. I want a well-paying job with health insurance and paid time off and if I can't get exactly what I want, well I'm too good to flip burgers." We believe that our possessions will show people what we are; we're right, but not the way we think we are.
So what is the question that the title refers to? For me, it's "What can I do?" What is it I'm supposed to do? Do I even have the ability to help others? Because I believe we should be helping each other up, not tearing each other down. We have this abundance, we are able to fall back. We should be giving back.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Looks Like Up to Me
I haven't been myself lately. I didn't recognize why right away, maybe it was wishful thinking. With depression, you always hope it doesn't come back.
I know that I have not had it as bad as some of my friends and family who have also struggled with this. When it got to be too dark for me the last time, I went to a counselor for talk therapy. I changed some things in my life around, and for the most part, it has worked.
I never had to be on medication for my depression; I was aware that there would be a lot of side effects and that I might have to try a few different ones just to find one that would work for me. I didn't want to go that route because I felt for my depression, much of it was due to patterns of behavior and thinking I had gotten into. When I was able to break those, the dark moods were beatable.
This week, though, I started out Monday feeling like a wreck. It was my day off and I wanted to try to accomplish something, but that was not happening. I tried to blog and barely got through a single paragraph. I ended up watching TV most of the day and had a glass of wine around 3 to get through the rest of it. I even cried just a little. That was the sign to me that something was off. This could just be due to hormones, it is around "that time." That's what I'm hoping.
I haven't been taking very good care of myself either. I'm out of shape and that discourages me. I'm going to try and get a bit healthier and see if that will help stabilize me. It helps that this isn't anywhere near as bad as when I went through it before. I'm also prepared to face it down in any case. It will not define or beat me, I kicked its ass once before.
I know that I have not had it as bad as some of my friends and family who have also struggled with this. When it got to be too dark for me the last time, I went to a counselor for talk therapy. I changed some things in my life around, and for the most part, it has worked.
I never had to be on medication for my depression; I was aware that there would be a lot of side effects and that I might have to try a few different ones just to find one that would work for me. I didn't want to go that route because I felt for my depression, much of it was due to patterns of behavior and thinking I had gotten into. When I was able to break those, the dark moods were beatable.
This week, though, I started out Monday feeling like a wreck. It was my day off and I wanted to try to accomplish something, but that was not happening. I tried to blog and barely got through a single paragraph. I ended up watching TV most of the day and had a glass of wine around 3 to get through the rest of it. I even cried just a little. That was the sign to me that something was off. This could just be due to hormones, it is around "that time." That's what I'm hoping.
I haven't been taking very good care of myself either. I'm out of shape and that discourages me. I'm going to try and get a bit healthier and see if that will help stabilize me. It helps that this isn't anywhere near as bad as when I went through it before. I'm also prepared to face it down in any case. It will not define or beat me, I kicked its ass once before.
Monday, July 8, 2013
Solitude
"I never said 'I want to be alone.' I only said 'I want to be let alone!' There is all the difference." - Greta Garbo
I don't play well with others. I will never be considered the life of the party. My idea of a good time is a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, tucked into a good book or video game. Being around other people demanding my time can overwhelm me.
There is, however, a difference between solitude and loneliness. To me, being lonely means I'm wanting company, a friend or my boyfriend, and for whatever reason, they can't be there. I'm wanting human contact and not getting it.
Solitude is a chance for reflection. To learn something I didn't know before, about the world or about myself. It's almost like meditation. In a demanding world that measures you by what you can give it, solitude is how I recharge.
I don't play well with others. I will never be considered the life of the party. My idea of a good time is a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, tucked into a good book or video game. Being around other people demanding my time can overwhelm me.
There is, however, a difference between solitude and loneliness. To me, being lonely means I'm wanting company, a friend or my boyfriend, and for whatever reason, they can't be there. I'm wanting human contact and not getting it.
Solitude is a chance for reflection. To learn something I didn't know before, about the world or about myself. It's almost like meditation. In a demanding world that measures you by what you can give it, solitude is how I recharge.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Writing about Writing
If I don't at least attempt to write something today, I will probably stop posting altogether. This is how a lot of my writing projects end up: I start off strong, get a few pages together, take notes. I can see the story perfectly and it's just begging me to bring it out, to be born.
Then, doubt creeps in. The characters start to seem flat or cliched. The story starts to say, "Not tonight, dear, I have a headache", or yawns when I start talking. It used to seem so interesting, and now I just wish it would go away and leave me alone instead of this back-and-forth crap. The magic is gone.
One story died because it was associated too strongly in my mind with one of my exes. I have as much desire to revisit those emotions as I do to stick my foot back under a lawnmower.
Most of the time, it's because the words I commit to paper seem so inadequate to tell the tale. It doesn't match up with what is in my head. That dissonance is enough to make me want to give up. Up until now, that's what I've done.
So, I have five pages of a story written, and it all looks like utter crap to me. If it was printed out, I'd burn it. I'm tempted to smash up my netbook and throw it in a river so the file can never be recovered. I've been wanting a gaming laptop anyway.
This time, I'm not giving up. I'm going to write as much as I can. Let's see where it goes.
Hey, look at that. Another blog post.
Then, doubt creeps in. The characters start to seem flat or cliched. The story starts to say, "Not tonight, dear, I have a headache", or yawns when I start talking. It used to seem so interesting, and now I just wish it would go away and leave me alone instead of this back-and-forth crap. The magic is gone.
One story died because it was associated too strongly in my mind with one of my exes. I have as much desire to revisit those emotions as I do to stick my foot back under a lawnmower.
Most of the time, it's because the words I commit to paper seem so inadequate to tell the tale. It doesn't match up with what is in my head. That dissonance is enough to make me want to give up. Up until now, that's what I've done.
So, I have five pages of a story written, and it all looks like utter crap to me. If it was printed out, I'd burn it. I'm tempted to smash up my netbook and throw it in a river so the file can never be recovered. I've been wanting a gaming laptop anyway.
This time, I'm not giving up. I'm going to write as much as I can. Let's see where it goes.
Hey, look at that. Another blog post.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Better With Age
Sixteen days from now, I will be 29. The last twenty-something birthday I'll have. This is the time of year I begin to freak out, have crying fits and generally refuse to interact with anyone whatsoever. This year?
I couldn't care less.
My birthday used to be a tallying of what I had accomplished compared to what I desperately wanted to be done. Around here, it's not unusual to have married your high school sweetheart and start a family before most people have graduated college. Three of my friends were married by age 20 and another was with the man she would eventually marry.
Me? Not so much. My first date was around 19ish. After that, nothing until 24. I failed hard for the next 3 years and it hurt a lot. Part of why was because the margin for error seemed razor-thin. Some things you don't learn until you actually do them; dating and relationships definitely fall in that category. When I did make mistakes in that area, I got the feeling from a lot of people as if they were saying, "You should have known better! Get with it already!" How was I to know without doing it?
Books? Movies? TV? They all have a happy ending and the message is "If you just try hard enough it'll happen."
My friends? See the second full paragraph here. Not getting a long-term relationship and eventual marriage in your early twenties was the exception where I used to live, not the norm.
Contentment came when I quit judging my life against what I thought was my ideal life. I stopped listening to people that had their own opinions of where I should be. I quit trying so hard to be something I wasn't and just let what I truly enjoyed doing bubble up.
My job isn't what a lot of people would think is a good job, but here's a secret: I love it and I take pride in doing it well.
I'm mostly debt-free with only a car loan and no student loans and have a tidy amount saved up against a rainy day. I'm in a good place to actually help others beyond, "You'll be in my good thoughts" or "I'll pray for you".
I'm with an awesome man that respects me. We keep our word to each other and there's no secrets. Relationships are so much better between a man and a woman vs a boy and a girl.
No, I'm not where I thought I would be at 29. And I would not trade it for anything, not in a lifetime.
I couldn't care less.
My birthday used to be a tallying of what I had accomplished compared to what I desperately wanted to be done. Around here, it's not unusual to have married your high school sweetheart and start a family before most people have graduated college. Three of my friends were married by age 20 and another was with the man she would eventually marry.
Me? Not so much. My first date was around 19ish. After that, nothing until 24. I failed hard for the next 3 years and it hurt a lot. Part of why was because the margin for error seemed razor-thin. Some things you don't learn until you actually do them; dating and relationships definitely fall in that category. When I did make mistakes in that area, I got the feeling from a lot of people as if they were saying, "You should have known better! Get with it already!" How was I to know without doing it?
Books? Movies? TV? They all have a happy ending and the message is "If you just try hard enough it'll happen."
My friends? See the second full paragraph here. Not getting a long-term relationship and eventual marriage in your early twenties was the exception where I used to live, not the norm.
Contentment came when I quit judging my life against what I thought was my ideal life. I stopped listening to people that had their own opinions of where I should be. I quit trying so hard to be something I wasn't and just let what I truly enjoyed doing bubble up.
My job isn't what a lot of people would think is a good job, but here's a secret: I love it and I take pride in doing it well.
I'm mostly debt-free with only a car loan and no student loans and have a tidy amount saved up against a rainy day. I'm in a good place to actually help others beyond, "You'll be in my good thoughts" or "I'll pray for you".
I'm with an awesome man that respects me. We keep our word to each other and there's no secrets. Relationships are so much better between a man and a woman vs a boy and a girl.
No, I'm not where I thought I would be at 29. And I would not trade it for anything, not in a lifetime.
Friday, June 28, 2013
A post about Food
Food's an old friend of mine. You could say we go back almost thirty years now. One of the first things I can remember tasting was a tomato that was fresh from the garden. I almost immediately spit it out, because four-year-olds think Skittles are a food group.
I started learning how to cook once I was on my own. I figured out that stews were nearly foolproof and I make a mean Beef and Guinness and Scotch Broth. I cooked a sirloin steak with port wine sauce perfectly on one occasion two years ago and haven't managed it since. I pwn baked mac and cheese, however.
Living in the Midwest, we don't have a lot of access to exotic dishes. Omaha has some decent Indian restaurants and sushi places. The greasy spoon diners and holes-in-the-wall are regularly edible. I can readily recommend Sinful Burger, Choo-Choos, Pudgy's Pizza, Mama's, The Indian Oven and Tanduri Fusion if you find yourself here.
I'm not creative with cooking by any means, however. I find the recipe and I follow it to the T. The Man makes fun of me sometimes; I don't think he's ever used a measuring spoon in his life. His intuition is good because I have yet to eat any Mulligans from him.
Up until now, I haven't worried about counting calories or portion control. Over the last year, though, that's begun to show, at least to me. It seems like I'm having to go up a size every few months; that's not such a worry when you started out at size 4, but it is a pain to have to replace your pants constantly because the waistband is digging into your hips. I'm also on the tall side of average, so I don't tend to show an extra fifteen pounds, but my jeans will testify under oath that they are there. I am going to attempt to cut most of the junk out of my diet just so my energy levels improve.
These are the times I wish I lived in a state where Runzas are not available, however. Happy weekend and good eating to all!
I started learning how to cook once I was on my own. I figured out that stews were nearly foolproof and I make a mean Beef and Guinness and Scotch Broth. I cooked a sirloin steak with port wine sauce perfectly on one occasion two years ago and haven't managed it since. I pwn baked mac and cheese, however.
Living in the Midwest, we don't have a lot of access to exotic dishes. Omaha has some decent Indian restaurants and sushi places. The greasy spoon diners and holes-in-the-wall are regularly edible. I can readily recommend Sinful Burger, Choo-Choos, Pudgy's Pizza, Mama's, The Indian Oven and Tanduri Fusion if you find yourself here.
I'm not creative with cooking by any means, however. I find the recipe and I follow it to the T. The Man makes fun of me sometimes; I don't think he's ever used a measuring spoon in his life. His intuition is good because I have yet to eat any Mulligans from him.
Up until now, I haven't worried about counting calories or portion control. Over the last year, though, that's begun to show, at least to me. It seems like I'm having to go up a size every few months; that's not such a worry when you started out at size 4, but it is a pain to have to replace your pants constantly because the waistband is digging into your hips. I'm also on the tall side of average, so I don't tend to show an extra fifteen pounds, but my jeans will testify under oath that they are there. I am going to attempt to cut most of the junk out of my diet just so my energy levels improve.
These are the times I wish I lived in a state where Runzas are not available, however. Happy weekend and good eating to all!
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Major Trouble?
I always dreaded answering the question, "What are you majoring in?". It was because I knew that after I mumbled, "Creative writing," the smirks would start. The rolled eyes, the stifled laughter. "Oh, so what can you do with that?" My all-time favorite was this gem, after I had graduated and was telling a coworker, "So you graduate high school and decided you want to write even though you have no idea what the world is like? You thought you had something to say?"
I have not talked to that person by choice since.
At times I understood the sentiment behind the mocking; I used to join in it. My standard reply was "Wait tables the rest of my life." I probably was a bit too sensitive when my major got mocked, as well. I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't something I loved, after all. I got to read and analyze literature and even though the writing workshops were horribly uncomfortable for me, I enjoyed getting the feedback on what I wrote. So mock my major and you're mocking something that's very near and dear to me.
In my opinion, it's too soon to say I wasted the time I could have spent earning a more "worthwhile" major. I'm not dead yet, after all. Am I going to write the next great American novel or become a Poet Laureate? I don't know. My life's not even half over yet. We'll see what I come up with.
I do remember the first time I told someone outside the family my major and did not get any kind of mocking reaction:
Time: Last July. Place: The Library (pub). I had been asked out for a birthday drink by one of the guys I played DnD with. We were sitting at the bar, making awkward small talk. He asked the dreaded question, and I can still remember how I framed my answer:
(Me) "It's Creative Writing.
(Him) "Oh." Contemplative silence.
"Go ahead. Laugh. Everyone does."
"No, I wouldn't."
"It's really okay, I won't be offended."
"I wouldn't have much room to laugh. I majored in music."
"Oh." Contemplative silence.
We started dating a while later and we're still together now. At least a very small part of it is due to the fact that he didn't laugh.
Moral of the story: THINK before you MOCK.
I have not talked to that person by choice since.
At times I understood the sentiment behind the mocking; I used to join in it. My standard reply was "Wait tables the rest of my life." I probably was a bit too sensitive when my major got mocked, as well. I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't something I loved, after all. I got to read and analyze literature and even though the writing workshops were horribly uncomfortable for me, I enjoyed getting the feedback on what I wrote. So mock my major and you're mocking something that's very near and dear to me.
In my opinion, it's too soon to say I wasted the time I could have spent earning a more "worthwhile" major. I'm not dead yet, after all. Am I going to write the next great American novel or become a Poet Laureate? I don't know. My life's not even half over yet. We'll see what I come up with.
I do remember the first time I told someone outside the family my major and did not get any kind of mocking reaction:
Time: Last July. Place: The Library (pub). I had been asked out for a birthday drink by one of the guys I played DnD with. We were sitting at the bar, making awkward small talk. He asked the dreaded question, and I can still remember how I framed my answer:
(Me) "It's Creative Writing.
(Him) "Oh." Contemplative silence.
"Go ahead. Laugh. Everyone does."
"No, I wouldn't."
"It's really okay, I won't be offended."
"I wouldn't have much room to laugh. I majored in music."
"Oh." Contemplative silence.
We started dating a while later and we're still together now. At least a very small part of it is due to the fact that he didn't laugh.
Moral of the story: THINK before you MOCK.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
What's in a Name?
Anyone reading this who is exactly where they thought they would be in life, with the exact person they thought they'd be with, living in their dream house with their ideal job is now excused. Take a walk. This blog is for the rest of us.
Was there ever a time in your life that you felt helpless? Where you thought no matter what you said or did, things wouldn't change? I would wager to guess most people have. Change is not impossible, but it's also not painless. That's how your mind can make you stay exactly where you're at, even if it's slowly killing you.
Stagnation is comfortable. It requires no effort other than to stay where you are, as you are, who you are. Changing means questioning yourself: "Am I the person I want to be/ought to be?" The stagnant life will say, "I haven't killed or raped anyone or robbed a bank, and my friends and family all say I'm a nice guy/girl!" It's a life without risks and minimal reward. After all, if you don't make the effort, you can't be rejected. It's a life that kills you so slowly you won't feel the dying.
I've been there. I hesitate to say that I'm not there right now, because stagnation is tricky like that. If you're in a deep sleep, are you thinking to yourself, "This is some awesome sleep I'm having! I pwned that sleep!" Three years ago I was depressed and on the verge of thinking about doing something irrevocable. Two years ago I was beginning to grasp that I could fight back. One year ago, I told myself I would never be in a relationship with a boy who didn't respect me, and I haven't made that mistake again. It was by no means painless.
In order to change, life kicked the shit out of me until I figured out how to swing back. It's not out of anger, however I don't know how anyone who comes to a realization of how much time they've wasted chasing the moon couldn't be angry. I am not the woman I want to be yet. I will spend my life trying to become her, and I may fail. That doesn't give me cause to give up before even beginning to fight.
So even though stagnating is easy and "safe", I will fight to change for as long as is given me, against the inclination to be satisfied with what I am.
That's what's in the name. Any questions?
Was there ever a time in your life that you felt helpless? Where you thought no matter what you said or did, things wouldn't change? I would wager to guess most people have. Change is not impossible, but it's also not painless. That's how your mind can make you stay exactly where you're at, even if it's slowly killing you.
Stagnation is comfortable. It requires no effort other than to stay where you are, as you are, who you are. Changing means questioning yourself: "Am I the person I want to be/ought to be?" The stagnant life will say, "I haven't killed or raped anyone or robbed a bank, and my friends and family all say I'm a nice guy/girl!" It's a life without risks and minimal reward. After all, if you don't make the effort, you can't be rejected. It's a life that kills you so slowly you won't feel the dying.
I've been there. I hesitate to say that I'm not there right now, because stagnation is tricky like that. If you're in a deep sleep, are you thinking to yourself, "This is some awesome sleep I'm having! I pwned that sleep!" Three years ago I was depressed and on the verge of thinking about doing something irrevocable. Two years ago I was beginning to grasp that I could fight back. One year ago, I told myself I would never be in a relationship with a boy who didn't respect me, and I haven't made that mistake again. It was by no means painless.
In order to change, life kicked the shit out of me until I figured out how to swing back. It's not out of anger, however I don't know how anyone who comes to a realization of how much time they've wasted chasing the moon couldn't be angry. I am not the woman I want to be yet. I will spend my life trying to become her, and I may fail. That doesn't give me cause to give up before even beginning to fight.
So even though stagnating is easy and "safe", I will fight to change for as long as is given me, against the inclination to be satisfied with what I am.
That's what's in the name. Any questions?
Monday, June 24, 2013
Emm's First Post
This is not a happy tale.
Nor is it particularly sad.
It's a story about a girl who became a woman. She took so long to do it because she was desperate to be loved. She thought if she tried to please everyone, pasted a smile on her face and always put her own needs last, it would happen. It HAD to happen. Couldn't they see all she did for them? Couldn't they see she needed them?
One day, she said, "Enough. No more. It's my life." She walked away from the people that used her. She remembered the things she liked to do: watch terrible horror movies, read anything from history books to trashy romance novels, go window-shopping with no intention of buying anything and buying far too many bottles of perfume.
She said, "I refuse to change for anyone, to compromise what's important to me in order to make someone else happy. If you want something different, you are free to leave." She deleted phone numbers that never called or texted back anyway.
In the culling, there was one thing she stopped that she never meant to. Pen to paper, typing on a Word document; the desire to tell stories hadn't gone away, it just got lost.
For now, it's back. I hope it doesn't go away again. This is me. I hope you'll be back.
Nor is it particularly sad.
It's a story about a girl who became a woman. She took so long to do it because she was desperate to be loved. She thought if she tried to please everyone, pasted a smile on her face and always put her own needs last, it would happen. It HAD to happen. Couldn't they see all she did for them? Couldn't they see she needed them?
One day, she said, "Enough. No more. It's my life." She walked away from the people that used her. She remembered the things she liked to do: watch terrible horror movies, read anything from history books to trashy romance novels, go window-shopping with no intention of buying anything and buying far too many bottles of perfume.
She said, "I refuse to change for anyone, to compromise what's important to me in order to make someone else happy. If you want something different, you are free to leave." She deleted phone numbers that never called or texted back anyway.
In the culling, there was one thing she stopped that she never meant to. Pen to paper, typing on a Word document; the desire to tell stories hadn't gone away, it just got lost.
For now, it's back. I hope it doesn't go away again. This is me. I hope you'll be back.
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