I'm in a hole.
Despite my best efforts to tap dance and smell the roses, I've hit the skits and living the boo hoo life again. This is probably more of a post for my 'Tango and Madness' blog but seeing my mood is affecting my cooking, I feel it's appropriate to scratch this out here. This madam is feeling burnt.
I read my cook books, I trawl through recipes on the internet and think of shopping sprees in markets and the Middle Eastern bounty on Sydney Rd. Yet these days I inevitably end up at Coles or Woolies and it seems I'm on a rotation of pasta,soup and some form of curry. Even my foray into soba noodles has become a yawn fest
I went to a 50th birthday party on Saturday where a sexy Afro Cuban man was winking and waving at me and I was only barely impressed. Normally I'd be rearranging my cleavage and getting my groove on. This time, I just didn't want to. The juice,the mojo,the drive or whatever you want to call it just isn't there. Even Herb and his Tijuana brass can't do it for me at the moment.
So I've taken to my bed. The blinds are down and I'm holed up alone watching reruns of Northern Exposure. I've slept in my clothes for the past 4 days. My house is a feral pit. I wish I knew which direction to go. I am writing this in the hope that it will snap me out of my malaise. Damn chemical imbalances of my brain! My doctor wants me to increase my meds. I am ambivalent as I hate taking them in the first place and more meds means buying them more frequently which equals more money. I want to take them LESS so I can eventually get off them altogether.
I wish I could just snap my fingers and be in Buenos Aires. I'm not saying my life would be simpler but for some reason my life made sense there. Nothing felt foreign or odd there. I'm always having people comment about me in someway- such as when most people are preparing to have lunch, I'm having breakfast. When people are having afternoon tea,I'm having lunch. In B's A's, everyone's eating is on delay. No one rushes it and the only time someone commented on my eating time was when I went to La Plata at 9 they asked why I was having dinner 'so early'. It's a city where chaos and peace co habitate. No one wigs out at the slightest provocation as they do here. Jay walking is encouraged. If you can get across the street and live, you've earned it. I miss the men stopping and telling you that you are 'muy guapa'. Most of the time I am invisible in this town. I've had women say 'how sleazy are the men in Argentina' and I said 'not at all.' It was a nice change for men to appreciate me.
Anyhoo, what I'm trying to say or figure out here is maybe lack of creative is causing me to bottom out. I dream of making fancy cakes and feasts of roast goat and divine seafood but then I think 'who's it for?'
I'm not lonely and I love my little space but sometimes I feel it would be nice to meet Mr Lovely and co-habitate. To know what a real relationship is like because quite frankly, I've never had one. My first boyfriend ended up being gay and in reality, I was just a Sindy doll and he was gay Ken. We dressed up in our vintage sixties finery and I guess I was unknowingly a fag hag. A lack of self awareness made sure every other attempt at coupling was doomed from the start.
Perhaps the thing to so is get out of this bed, deferalise this apartment,go for a walk and buy some food. Then I should decide on one thing to do to change; get my learners permit,go dancing,realign my jaw and lose a bunch of weight.
Maybe then, my cooking creativity will return and my posts to this blog will start again with more frequency.
Like Thelonius Monk, it's all about space and time.
Despite my best efforts to tap dance and smell the roses, I've hit the skits and living the boo hoo life again. This is probably more of a post for my 'Tango and Madness' blog but seeing my mood is affecting my cooking, I feel it's appropriate to scratch this out here. This madam is feeling burnt.
I read my cook books, I trawl through recipes on the internet and think of shopping sprees in markets and the Middle Eastern bounty on Sydney Rd. Yet these days I inevitably end up at Coles or Woolies and it seems I'm on a rotation of pasta,soup and some form of curry. Even my foray into soba noodles has become a yawn fest
I went to a 50th birthday party on Saturday where a sexy Afro Cuban man was winking and waving at me and I was only barely impressed. Normally I'd be rearranging my cleavage and getting my groove on. This time, I just didn't want to. The juice,the mojo,the drive or whatever you want to call it just isn't there. Even Herb and his Tijuana brass can't do it for me at the moment.
So I've taken to my bed. The blinds are down and I'm holed up alone watching reruns of Northern Exposure. I've slept in my clothes for the past 4 days. My house is a feral pit. I wish I knew which direction to go. I am writing this in the hope that it will snap me out of my malaise. Damn chemical imbalances of my brain! My doctor wants me to increase my meds. I am ambivalent as I hate taking them in the first place and more meds means buying them more frequently which equals more money. I want to take them LESS so I can eventually get off them altogether.
I wish I could just snap my fingers and be in Buenos Aires. I'm not saying my life would be simpler but for some reason my life made sense there. Nothing felt foreign or odd there. I'm always having people comment about me in someway- such as when most people are preparing to have lunch, I'm having breakfast. When people are having afternoon tea,I'm having lunch. In B's A's, everyone's eating is on delay. No one rushes it and the only time someone commented on my eating time was when I went to La Plata at 9 they asked why I was having dinner 'so early'. It's a city where chaos and peace co habitate. No one wigs out at the slightest provocation as they do here. Jay walking is encouraged. If you can get across the street and live, you've earned it. I miss the men stopping and telling you that you are 'muy guapa'. Most of the time I am invisible in this town. I've had women say 'how sleazy are the men in Argentina' and I said 'not at all.' It was a nice change for men to appreciate me.
Anyhoo, what I'm trying to say or figure out here is maybe lack of creative is causing me to bottom out. I dream of making fancy cakes and feasts of roast goat and divine seafood but then I think 'who's it for?'
I'm not lonely and I love my little space but sometimes I feel it would be nice to meet Mr Lovely and co-habitate. To know what a real relationship is like because quite frankly, I've never had one. My first boyfriend ended up being gay and in reality, I was just a Sindy doll and he was gay Ken. We dressed up in our vintage sixties finery and I guess I was unknowingly a fag hag. A lack of self awareness made sure every other attempt at coupling was doomed from the start.
Perhaps the thing to so is get out of this bed, deferalise this apartment,go for a walk and buy some food. Then I should decide on one thing to do to change; get my learners permit,go dancing,realign my jaw and lose a bunch of weight.
Maybe then, my cooking creativity will return and my posts to this blog will start again with more frequency.
Like Thelonius Monk, it's all about space and time.
