Friday, October 07, 2005

Nothing to say

Drinking cheap wine I get corked at the store because my corkscrews and switch-knives are always confiscated at airports, because what use are they in your check-in, what will you do when you need to slice a tomato for your impromptu sandwich whilst waiting out a lay-over in Zurich?

So much for packed lunch.

I think I might have spent 21 hours in the last two weeks cooking. That's a blatant lie -- that would be three hours a day. Um, every two days. I suppose it feels that significant because the hours I don't spend cooking I don't spend doing much else ... reportable. This is something I have to get used to in dance -- you cannot max out everyday. Your body will fail you. My usual average 5 hours in the studio daily is already pushing it.

So I've been cooking a lot. I bought a 3-cup rice cooker with steamer tray (cum vegetable strainer) for $21.95 (plus tax). I make brown rice to go in wraps, with lettuce and chick pea curry. I make brown rice to go with steamed vegetables and shiitake-ginger dressing. I make spaghetti al oglio to go with my cheap wine. Most ingredients come from farmer's market and Jack's 99 cent store. Did you know they have packaged ham and chicken breast and cottage cheese, not to mention olive oil and vinegared bell peppers? Granted, the chicken tastes like tuna (I'm convinced it is), but for 99c a pop, it's a steal.

Last week was healthy.
I discovered the irresitible bunches of basil for $1 at the market, and put it raw with everything: grilled chicken salad, mango-ham salad, sandwiches, curry. Fresh, red tomatoes with everything -- bliss.

This week was hormonal hell.
Unaccountable bouts of depression, cravings for fried foods, chocolate, dairy, and the equivalent of Tajikistan's annual requirement for carbohydrate.

[Tajikistan, Jumhurii Tojikiston: population 7,163,506. Borders China, Afghanistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan. Slightly smaller than Wisconsin. Poorest in the region: GDP (@PPP) = $1,100 USD), although growing. Evidently, the geographic scope of my stomach. Incidentally, $1,100 is approximately what I spend in a month, if I don't go shopping or have to look nice for a wedding.]

Still, I've gone down a size, and wonder as I wander down the stairs past the mirrors lining the first floor hallway of my apartment building -- can this be it? Is this what I was looking for? Now, can I stop and be normal?

But that's also a lie. It's what I recognize as myself thinking, but it's not really what I'm thinking. I'm thinking it's a pleasant reward for the hard work I'm putting in to concretize my technique, one of the few things I ever really wanted ... for me. I still also want world peace. Hearing the troubles of returnees to Southern Sudan on the radio in the mornings doesn't help my confidence in post-modern/post-ideological dance-making assisting this desire.

So cooking -- again, an emotional outlet, which, once unsatisfactory (because the need became too strong, or because the coping became too weak a substitute), became a distraction and a crutch, which also equals a potential avenue for self-destruction. I've been very grouchy because of this inability to control my hungers this week. Sounds trite, but surely you can empathize. Who likes being willed against their better judgment?

1 comment:

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