I am not proud of it.
I am sick.
Addicted, even.
There is no excuse.
There are parts of me that are sick. My computer was a little bit ill. There are posts that await, and I was without my electronic diary. The conclusion of my culinary pilgrimage awaits, and my computer was having an affair with the geek squad at my favorite blue and yellow electronics store. A word to the wise, smit fraud is a nasty virus that you don't want to catch.
There is no answer, only reformatting. There is no escape, only the clean slate.
There is only the erased data and the empty landscape of my desktop. I love and hate clean slates. Who doesn't?
I am not proud of what I turn to. There is no excuse. At least I plated some of it. There are times when all of us need to hike down the avenue of our favorite meal for comfort... but here I am. It's okay - you have to see this side of me.
Here I am.
It's not hard. Tonight I stayed at the office until the sun went down, so that just opens the door. I really jump at the chance for an excuse. The drive home lead to the same familiar thoughts about the refrigerator. What was in it? Would any of it make a meal? Would any of it require effort to prepare? I just couldn't leave that excel spreadsheet until it was done. I just love and loathe the data all at the same time. I didn't mean for it to end up this way, but I didn't fight it either.
I told you I was sick. Then came the movie. Oh, this next part is not for the faint of heart. It was a romantic comedy. Halfway through the manchego you realize that he really loves his friend all along. There is an uncomfortable fifteen minutes where they may not end up together. Oh, dear.
But, there is some truth here, just like the movie.
The meal I ate tonight consisted of cheese, crackers, raspberries, grapes, dried apricots, cornichons, and prosciutto. A little old and cured and a little fresh and new. A little sweet and a little sour. Oh, and the half bottle of red wine. You have to have something to wash it all away.
I told you I was sick. It is not all pretty. Some days are gourmet and some days are not.
