Pre-blog blog entry

[artemisdart]

I was cold and tired last night as I was walking back to the car after Chinese class, and to comfort myself, I began telling myself all the different types of food that would be waiting for me when I got home. (This was pure fantasy: our kitchen has some olives, some stale cereal, and a questionable jar of pickle relish.)

"We'll have meatloaf," I crooned to myself, "and mashed potatoes and gravy and turkey and brussels sprouts with butter and Creole powder and homemade hot Italian sausage pizza with five cheeses on top. We'll have lasagna and French Onion Soup with a thick bubbly crust of Swiss and some fresh bread with herb butter. We'll have good red beer and a juicy steak and a baked potato with sour cream and chives and the outside rubbed with salt, and another baked potato with chili and cheddar cheese, and potstickers and wontons and one of those weird salads where you don't know what the heck all that green stuff is, with salad dressing made of the best olive oil and balsamic vinegar and papricka. We'll have biscuits and crescent rolls the way Mom used to make and pumpkin pie made from a real pumpkin with spices and real whipped cream, and dark hot sweet coffee and fried rice with hot sauce and fettucini with shrimp and exotic mushrooms and fresh herbs from our garden." (That was more wishful thinking... I had a pot of basil once, but I killed it.)

I started crying because thinking about all that comforting food made me think of my mother, who died last April, and I cried in my car all the way home. I arrived just before the two pizzas showed up on our doorstep, and had pizza with Polytrypos, Brian, and Strick, and felt much better. It wasn't the food that made me feel better, it was being near my friends. Friends, I love you all.