I just want to be a candy maker.
Pulling flourescent silvery taffy, which shimmers off the mirrored walls. The walls reflect every speck of color every jellybean and gummy creature, every shiny little candy wrapper and tin foil wrapped chocolate. That’s one of the perks of the job. Trippy walls.
You can’t not be happy when you can spin around in a rainbow whenever you want. New colors show up in the windows every week. Bright cherry reds, icy blues, mint greens, deep dark chocolate speckled with nuts and toffee.. Everything would always be beautiful and my ideas would make people happy.
I just want to be a candy maker. But the only colors I can come up with are icy blue.
I woke up. An immediate feeling of… indifference and fatigue overtakes my body. I get up, drink water, take the dogs out. I sit on the couch. I want to call into work. But feeling the terrible ache of an upset in a ridiculously long election year has never been a reason to take a sick day. It should be this year.
We should all be at home. Drinking. Getting stoned. Why not. What the fuck happened last night. What. The. Fuck. I drink another large glass of water.
I don’t even know what this the title of President of the United States means anymore. The house, the Senate, the Supreme court, I do know what the fuck that all means. Everything feels dangerous. The air itself feels heavy, the air I am breathing tastes of fear.
The air I am breathing is heavy with fear.
1.) The edit as you go phase.
2.) The “relaxing breaks are okay” phase.
3.) The extended breaks phase..
4.) The day off. (The entire day. This is usually where housework gets done.)
5.) The caffeination phase.
6.) The dump it all and edit later phase.
7.) The all-nighter phase.
8.) The 2nd caffeination phase. (Where you think it’s magic.)
9.) The “up all night, but it wasn’t worth it” phase.
10.) The “getting drunk will help!” phase.
11.) The reset button.
12.) The list-making phase.
13.) The slow and excruciating check-off-the-list phase.
14.) The renewed sense of confidence phase.
15.) The third, mostly & usually unnecessary all-nighter.
16.) The home stretch. (Where you lock yourself in and abandon all plans and obligations, sometimes including day jobs.)
17.) The “need to sleep but the adrenaline of finishing is keeping me up” phase.
18.) The waiting game, the most excruciating phase of them all, the phase that has made perfectly sane human beings yell out primal screams sitting alone at a computer at 3am: EXPORTING.
Have you ever thought of your life as a film? A screenplay, more like. Every decision is a plot twist, it will take the storyline a slightly different way no matter how small the action.
I have always had trouble not thinking of my life this way. When you think of your life like a plot line, you know when there must be a rise and a fall. Or at least, when one is due. You have control over your life, over your destiny, but you keep thinking about what would be best for the storyline. It creeps in.
Someone new comes into your life. Someone SPECTACULAR. But you don’t know where they’re supposed to go in your little life plot line. It drives you insane. You know where you’d like them to go. But on some level you feel that it isn’t up to you. That while you are the main character, you may not be capable of directing. So there’s one thing that really sucks about this mindset.
The other thing that sucks is when you have to make an ACTUAL decision, a huge life decision. When that fight-or-flight mode kicks in you immediately think of the storyline. How will this decision affect the plot?
There is a lot of questioning that comes along with being trapped in this mindset. I suppose the only way to truly escape would be to write the script that has been given to you, or that you have given yourself. In real life, on paper, with ink, where you can edit and proofread and not just watch the plot go by.
Feeling the need to make something so much that you start crafting things with wood and cork board is a rush all its own.
The can men. The men who collect the cans. On bikes, on foot, by shopping cart chariot they come out at the break of dawn every Thursday morning. Up and down and around and the looping back again. Trying to beat the garbage trucks, like a real life board game.
I admire the can men. I admire the resourcefulness and the work ethic. I’ve encountered many a can man and they always have a greeting for you as you pass by, a good morning nod and sometimes even a smile. I don’t care what the can men use their can money for. I really don’t. I think it’s a little insulting when young professionals living on the east end leave notes by their empties on the street; “please use this for food.” Don’t tell them what to use their money for, just because you’re giving it to them.
And these guys recycle! The can men (and women, I’ve seen women,) are not only earning income from things others are discarding but they are recycling those things as well. Cans are recyclable currency.
The can men really know what they’re doing.
A recent experience I’ve had has renewed a part of my spirit. The landscape of this particular publication is changing, from a random scrambling of eggs to a field full of chickens. Laying eggs. IDEAS, the eggs are the ideas. The eggs are a lot of things. There is so much friggin’ symbolism in an egg it’s outrageous. Perhaps I’m the only one who takes such creative inspiration and life-feels out of something you put ketchup on, but I’m hoping that isn’t the case.
There will always be things to say about eggs. Here, we will find a way to say them.
What is blogging but a burden. And a stressful constant writing assignment. I am not a writer. Not yet at least. I am a maker of media, a videographer and a documentor of happenings. But certainly not a blogger.
Perhaps this hiatus will end soon?
Stay tuned for more fascinating breaking news.
I think about food a lot. I think about food a lot because I enjoy the creativity and freedom that cooking allows. Lately I’ve been thinking about food because money doesn’t grow on trees. And currently those trees, unless they are fruit-bearing, need some extra time to grow. But there is never extra time, and so creativity now comes in to play in an entirely different way.
When you are poor, broke or down on your luck the world suddenly becomes tinted with a shade of grey. Or blue, whatever you prefer.. You think differently. You start noticing new resources around you, you constantly debate which sacrifice is more worth making for the good of the household, among many other changes in your perspective on everyday life.
Bills should be your first priority. Food should be the next. Then marijuana. Then gas. (Kidding, ideally weed should be last on your list because although it is a very difficult concept to accept, the more you smoke the more you eat and that completely counter-acts your second priority plans.. I know. It sucks. We’ll work on this together.)
Today’s Tip: Make a list of every dish you can think of, that can be made with what is in your fridge right NOW. Then see how many days of meals you can get out of that list. You’ll be surprised.. Hopefully. No crazy complicated hipster-nonsense recipes involving making your own rosemary mayonnaise and soaking some sort of nut in lemon water for 24 hours. Unless you just HAPPEN to have these things in your fridge, in which case I’m judging you. Just a little. Though a rosemary mayonnaise vegan cheesecake does sound delightful….