Seriously, I feel like every minute of this day has a Ziggy punchline to it. And I fucking HATE Ziggy.
Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Again.
See? Can't you just see that little bald asshole in a field with a lost balloon or something? I'm reduced to Hallmark stereotypes today, which belie the cynicism, anger, disappointment and rage that course right under my skin. Which brings me to my topic and raison d'angst....
IMPATIENCE
I can't wait for the coffee to finish brewing. I can't wait for the dogs to finish pooping before I get them back into the house (that leads to supergross messes, by the way), I can't wait for the station to fold, to start school, to pack and move, to move on, to get on with it, to just DO something else. Whenever I know a change is coming, it makes me crazy anxious to change everything else. The only thing that calms me to down to rational thought is cooking. I have made, in the past week, three pots of soup, two new butternut squash recipes (vegan risotto and vegetarian gratin...both keepers), bread, two pies, a cake, cookies, and macaroni and cheese that I simply made to occupy myself and then fed to the dogs.
I have to cook in order to stop racing. The attention needed to chop, mix, and properly make things slows me down so that I can think about things one at a time while engaged in the cooking process. The thing is, I don't need all that food myself, so I just keep bringing it places, giving it away, or stuffing the dogs silly with it. Which seems to me that it must look like some kind of flag to people...a neurotically food-gifting Bridgette has got to signal SOME sort of psychological crisis, right? Thankfully, the food is good, so no one calls me on it.
Some of this is borne from the fact that for the first time in ages, or maybe ever, I have a plan for my life. I have a set set of events and circumstances which will get me somewhere I'd like to be. More money, more free time, less Escanaba. Maybe babies, maybe husband, whatever...but it's a plan, and I just have to WAIT for it to start. It's awful. Nothing is good enough and I am rushing everything I touch, which is why I am grateful for this delicious and quick pie:
Cheap, processed Key Lime Pie, which is made with packaged stuff but is nonetheless delicious.
Oven 350
1 premade graham cracker crust
1 14 oz can of sweetened, condensed milk
3 egg yolks
3 Tbs of water
1/2 cup of lime juice (or just squeeze the whole plastic lime in there)
Take a fork and beat the shit out of the yolks. Open the can of nasty milk and pour it into the eggs, and then whisk the shit out of that. Then add the water and the lime juice and just whip it all together. Throw it into the crust, bake it for 25 minutes, and then put some whipped cream on it when it's cool, and it's fucking delicious. Except for the baking, it takes, like, three minutes to make this pie.
To make it better, make your own crust, squeeze some fresh limes, and try to top it with meringue. But this works just fine.
Alright. That's enough for today.
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3 comments:
Jesus Lord, do I understand. Hey, quick question, since we seem to be irritated about things in the same nature at the same time--does the time of year have anything to do with it? Because I notice, in addition to the valid things I bitch about, that it seems to happen at the same, uncanny time each year: Autumn. Have we fallen into a disgusting "change of winds" cliche? I sure hope not. However; thanks for the recipe. Cannot wait to try it. :)
It might be, actually. My usual drive to make countless pans of apple crisp is curiously absent. Maybe is was just set aside in favor of this new, mid-30's autumangst. Oh, and I made up a new word. Is there a 20's version of it that you could be suffering? Heinous.
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