May
It’s 4:20 on Sunday morning. As is the case as many nights as not, W’s stirring snapped me awake, and my mind slipped quickly into a frenzy of worry. This time, it was triggered by the realization that it’s May. May!
The birds are starting to sing already, out there in the dark. I realize for most, this is a good thing.
Even as a kid, the arrival of spring triggered a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. As soon as it began to warm up enough that you could roll the windows down in the car, I knew summer was coming, and bringing bathing suits with it. And strappy sandals, and shorts and tank tops I could never wear. The anticipation of summer vacation was trumped by the fear that I couldn’t get away with sweaters and oversized jackets for much longer.
(Sorry, no recipe today. Besides that roasted beet salad, I haven’t managed to make dinner once this week. I did make a banana bread yesterday, but you know that one already.)
This winter has been long, and although we did get tired of the snow and brown and went seeking something green and growing (and the beach, above) in Tofino in March, I have also been secretly relieved by it. The arrival of summer has been like another deadline in my mind, a big one that I haven’t been completely on top of, and unlike the others I can’t expect to scramble and catch up on the night before. I have been going to the gym – yes – but it’s not enough to turn this ship around. (Aside: I feel like one of the hippos from Fantasia doing the Maniac! scene from Flashdance.)
There has been stuff, of course – health stuff and family stuff and scary (especially in the middle of the night) stuff, and to be honest I’ve been a bit down, and not spending enough time with friends, and isn’t it about time for a midlife crisis? And through it all the hungry part of me has had ample opportunity to convince the rest that I shouldn’t worry so much about my weight when so many are going through far worse. That I should just get over myself and be happy with what and who I am.
Except that I’m not, really. I’m tired and awkward and uncomfortable. And there’s always stuff, isn’t there? There will always be stuff, and there will always be food, and it’s called life.
A few weeks ago I met someone who knew me only from here and the radio, and when she asked if I was Julie, and I said yes, she gave me the long slow up and down. And said – “So. That’s you, huh?”
It just made me flush, alone in the dark on my laptop, to type that. Even though I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it. And I crumbled into this apology for having surely let her down. Yes, this is me. Sorry. I know. I’m working on it.
Gah.
I know some (most?) of you are here for the food. As much as anything, I worry that this place could wind up overrun with rants, diminishing the food and laughs. And it shouldn’t be one or the other, really. I have a solution, I think. I’ll be up front about the food stuff, and if you want to read more about all this, I’ll add it after the jump (below, where it says continue reading. Also, this will act as a bit of a buffer, filtering all this personal stuff only to those who are actually interested. I have been procrastinating putting it out there. No takesies backsies once you hit publish, you know.)
And tomorrow, I’m making dinner.
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May 02 2011 | leftovers | 146 Comments »
