Why the fuck is it so hard to give something to us yourself instead of giving it to my sister-in-law to give to us? We live across the fucking road! It takes the exact amount of effort to put it in our mailbox as it does theirs. Fucks sake!
Since I don’t have any children of my own to pass on my wisdom and stories, I thought I’d share some here.
When I was in highschool, I think around 15, I went to a friend’s birthday party for a sleepover. We decided it would be super fun to get high on pot, and drink, before we dressed up as hookers and tried to get into the pub that was by her house. Fun right? I remember that we did not, in fact, get into the pub, and I’m not sure we actually even tried. What I do remember is wearing shoes that didn’t fit me, and were either too large or too small, a very tight skirt, and a lot of makeup.
There’s not much that I remember from that night, other than the fact that when we went to sleep I was very, very high, and when I woke up, I was still very high. And we listened to a lot of Alanis Morissette. For some reason that really sticks out.
This tale didn’t have a lot of wisdom to it, other than please don’t get high and dress up like hookers when you’re 15.
One of the things that I’m really good at is cooking. I love cooking. Cooking and baking. When I cook, I don’t use recipes, but taste as I go and add what feels right. I love simple dishes, like angel hair pasta with fresh tomatoes, that are cooked down a bit in butter with garlic, and finished with fresh basil and parmesan cheese. Short ribs are another favourite to make. I like to do them in a slow oven for around 3-4 hours with some crushed tomatoes and a big dark beer. I do my stews much the same way.
Baking is something that obviously needs a recipe, but I like to tweak it to suit my tastes and needs. I have a cupcake recipe that is no fail, and I can substitute out the milk for boozy flavours, or add in fresh fruit if I like. I love experimenting with flavours for cupcakes. I’ve done them all, from red wine, fresh peach and basil, and pink lemonade, to apple cinnamon, coconut lime, and chai tea.
Not everything I make turns out. Unfortunately I’ve had quite the fair share of flops in my kitchen. Cinnamon rolls still continue to confound me. I’ve had batches turn out perfect, only to have the next three times completely fail. I did try one with bacon, cheese, and onion, and while it was really good, the bake was totally off.
Bread is an easy go to though. No matter what I add or do, bread always turns out for me. Maybe it’s in my genes. My grandmother was always baking bread and buns whenever we went over to her house. I’d leave with the smell of fresh bread permeated into my clothes. My mom is no different. She’s always baking fresh bread and buns. It seems that baking and cooking is a part of my soul, passed down from generation to generation.
As it turns out, my mother isn’t coming for a visit. I feel relieved. And surprisingly, a bit disappointed. I had thought of a few fun things that we could do together. I may still do them with just my husband, but it’s not the same as having a girl day with just your mom. At least I don’t have to worry about cleaning my house.
One of the worst things about the meds I’m on is that when I have a particularly anxious or over stimulated day, I get restless leg syndrome. Sometimes it gets really painful. Even when I take a Klonopin it doesn’t seem to help. I’m not sure if there’s something else I can do for it but it’s getting to be more and more often. Next time I go see my doctor, I’ll have to ask for something, and really push for it, since the last couple times I’ve mentioned it he kind of shrugged it off.
Now my mom keeps talking about coming for a visit. Chances are it’s not going to happen, but it still freaks me out. I haven’t seen her in a couple of years and don’t talk to her very often, so she doesn’t know how badly things have progressed with my anxiety. I told her not to be offended if I can’t see her very much while she’s here, because it’s probably going to happen. I wish summer was over already.
Today is my anniversary. I got married when I was just 19, and people thought I was too young. But I was so ready to be married. No one has ever made me happier than my husband does. He gives me everything he has and doesn’t ask for anything in return. He indulges my every whim, and works hard to give us a good life. I couldn’t ask for anyone better. It’s been 17 years, and every day I fall back in love with him, even when he drives me crazy.
Sometimes, on really bad days, I think it would be so much easier to be in a hospital. I wouldn’t have to think about anything. No decisions to make. Everything done for me. But then I think about all the shows I’d miss and I’m not sure anymore.