I cooked chicken thighs in garlic and butter and sour cream smashed tomatoes and used a splash of the sweetest wine Dionysus ever devised and cooked rice and thawed out some green beans real good. It was one of those impulses that probably only erupts after a lunch of McDonalds. It probably should be an impulse for celery and some sort of cleanse, but I think I thought I have chicken thighs, I should make chicken thighs rather than drag myself out for fast food.
It is just a little bit of a sign of your, my, our, the faithful light, the presence that is saying, PUSH HARD NOW. WE ONLY HAVE SO MUCH TIME. Don’t worry and live your life.
It is so imperfect. It is so piecemeal. It is so frustrating at times. You don’t want to be holier-than-thou, but I have this little feeling cooking and I can’t ignore that it feels good to be trying and striving for a life measured out in bathtubs rather than teaspoons. I keep asking if I can keep this up, this positivity that isn’t based on dieting, that isn’t based on getting the book done, that isn’t based on becoming beautiful, but just is. It’s worthiness and I don’t exactly know where it came from aside from driving along a dark road and a roar came out from within. A yell. A scream. A spirit clenched hold of me and said “Wow, the desire to do one small thing differently is being beaten back by such a strong muscle. Wow, it is a physical matter to just say I will go up the hill rather than turn down here at its foot. It’s a battle against something that does not want to change.” And I said, “Yes. Well. That muscle has had a lot of exercise.” Then, it seemed to pause within me and then it/I/you/we said, “Well, I’m here now, you are here now, so we are going to fight it. The one that pushes you around, we’re going to fight it.” And it hasn’t left me yet. It is rattling all of those deeply-rooted, deeply-held beliefs about myself that were seemingly true based on long years of not fighting them at all.
This sounds crazy. I know. I didn’t even really want to share it, but there’s sharing it and then there’s sharing it and right now it’s just a story to be filed away without bothering anyone. It only need matter to me, this force for good, this friendly spirit that I recognize is myself standing up for myself. As it said, solemnly…as you said….As I said….As was said, “I am you and I am more.” It’s willing to back up whatever in me wants to stop living in panic and fear, so I am all for it. It’s willing to be of just the right size to squinch down all these negative thoughts and make me think about just doing what needs to be done.
I drove home today, but I made us stop (my sister and myself, so weird to think of another us, this very real, entirely made-up us) nearly there because of that Arnold Schwarzenegger, muscle-bound force that says, oh, danger! But I haven’t even been trying to drive home and I knew I could do at least that much, and if I could do at least that much I could try. And now, I feel as though it seems more and more reasonable to just do the whole thing. I will get there.
The proof is in this pudding I am making, so, bubble away, little pudding. Thicken up. Congeal!