Infinity

Sometimes I do not see it coming. Standing on top of the world, I am busy with my head in the clouds and my heart in your hands. It rushes over me, through me, inside of me. It turns me inside out, forcing me to wear my damage on the outside.

Only you can see them, those secret places where the tissue is worn thin, stretched over too many heartaches. Only you can touch them, tracing the roadmaps of yesterdays. Your fingers slip over the empty places, the torn and ragged holes left by forgotten pieces of me. Only you can heal them, your love building bridges over sunken hopes and rotten dreams.

Sometimes I forget where you end and I begin. Until I can see your bandaids on my tattered soul. And then, I am grateful.

Dinner for Two: Or - Roasting my House Dress, 2.0

I had the insanely ambitious brilliant idea to took dinner for two. Now let us not forget that in my book: Kraft dinner, frozen pizza, grilled cheese, and chef Boyardee ALL count as viable dinner options. In fact, I prefer it that way. Who needs to cook when you can WARM! But I digress.


I planned a delicious roast beef, tender and steaming. Falling apart when you glance in its general direction, to die for and better than your mother's. Add to that sauteed golden potatoes with garlic, rosemary, paprika and fresh onions and some steamed carrots. Of course, I must have dessert. Let them eat cake!

... erm... or pie. Pecan pie. THE bane of my existence.

The fact that it probably isn't a great plan to make the pie for the first time WHEN OTHERS ARE EATING IT notwithstanding, last night I made a pie. For the purposes of today, we will call it Pie #1. Of course it was baked to perfection and steaming hot with all its pecan-y goodness. It was NOT undercooked in the center and overcooked on the top, it did NOT smell a little like burning, and I so totally COULD insert a knife gently in the center. I swear.

Last night, I tossed and turned in my bed, agonizing over Pie #1. Guest of Honour has been speaking of Pecan Pie for...um seven odd months now. He? Is expecting damn good pie! I must deliver! This morning, I mulled over Pie #1 again. It didn't look any better by the morning light, coffee or not. So I began Pie #2.

Dear Pie #2: You are expected to be delicious in all of the traditional ways. I expect you to supersede your forlorn burned brother, Pie #1. You must elicit nothing but moans of appreciation and eye rolling from Guest of Honour, and should you fail to deliver on any or all of said requirements, I will feed you to the raccoon of doom. I promise you this.

It looks good, flaky light crust, toasted pecans and beautiful brown top... it looks like the picture. It had better taste of it, or he is eating my roasted house dress. And liking it.

Dear Roast Beef #1....





{image from Etsy}

Only the Whisper Hits the Pavement

I've decided that I have become a blogging slacker. To remedy this, I have given the blog a whole new feel...

I've been reinventing my workspace as I get ready to begin writing my thesis. It's funny how when you really look at it, your old working space (the one that's gotten you through five years of university) is really a friggin mess. How did I EVER birth any of those endless essays, fits of genius or manaical opinions in such UTTER chaos?

I've chosen to move my workspace into my bedroom, where all is quieted in soothing tones of silver, teal and chocolate brown. Instead of kids toys and general mayhem, I've got an orchid, some plants, some comfort.... SOME PEACE! I've swept aside the piles of papers and books, coffee cups and pen shrapnel. I've come away with something more soothing and condusive to the writing process.

It is, in some way - like a rite of passage. As I grow from passive student to opinion producer; from school to career; in all honesty from child to adult, my workspace has changed around me. It is my hope that in changing the atmosphere of my blogging space, so too will my writing.

Wiping away the coffee stains on my life....