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Typing, Pacing, Typing

February 7, 2010

Today, I ought to be writing a super-short piece about the intersections of food and love. This essay is nearly two weeks overdue. Instead, I am typing, pacing, typing. Wringing my hands. Picking new music on my iPod: Stevie Nicks, Pixies, stale old grunge shit from the days of torn shorts and saggy shirts, Journey, Replacements, sweet old jazz, and M. Ward, whom my friend claims “sings like if butter could whisper”.

Yesterday, I was supposed to write a super-short piece about the intersections of food and love. The same one I ought to be tackling today. Instead, I ate grilled cheese, then walked to the market and met up with K., then napped with my kitten, enjoyed a red-hot shower, played fashion show and picked out the perfect sweater to wear to dinner.

Friday, I was supposed to write a super-short piece about the intersections of food and love. Instead, I met A. after work, and we drank a bottle of nice, dry red. Ate smoked blue cheese, mimolette, lardo, chorizo, some freaky head  cheese I could barely get down, sliver-thin apple slices, mebrillo, sugared walnuts, a half-dozen slices of red fife bread. Arrived home late, chilled to the bone, drew a bath I expected to be steaming hot but which instead revealed there was no hot water. Decided I was tired of being around myself, and simply went to bed.

Thursday, I was supposed to…

4 Comments leave one →
  1. foodandpassion permalink
    February 11, 2010 7:57 pm

    Ok, you don’t have any more excuses. We want the essay!

  2. February 13, 2010 1:46 am

    Fuck the essay. I just want the cookies!

    • welltailored permalink*
      February 13, 2010 9:09 am

      Fuck the essay indeed. I couldn’t agree with you more. I wrote it, put in a sweet little bit about the man I’d just fallen for, showed it to him, and then he broke my heart. Now, I’m editing the damn thing, complete with references to our awesome recent dates, and pretending it’s not stabbing me in the chest to shift commas around and shorten a paragraph here and there. Ugh.

      • foodandpassion permalink
        February 13, 2010 9:14 am

        Sticks and stones may break our bones, but words (or commas) don’t have to hurt us. Hugs and kisses.

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