Where to begin, internet? Life has been crazy and topsy turvy and all sorts of backtracking lately. I haven't cooked at home for myself in a few months aside from tossing some pasta with some basil and a few tablespoons of cream and I haven't really had any desire to. That makes me so sad and I am trying to push past that and get back to the norm.
It takes baby steps to get there, I think.
This is a bagel. Ordinary, plain, boring, cheap, uninspired and ultimately pathetic. Add some tuna, celery, sea salt, and half of a pickle made my by dear friend Mardi and it is suddenly something perched smack in the middle of "something to put in your stomach so you don't starve to death" and "comfort food."
Eight days ago, my relationship ended on a busy downtown street just as rush hour was ending. With every single part of myself, I was certain that I would not make it to the crosswalk at the corner to go home and would instead die of heartbreak right there where I stood. It took me a good three minutes to walk that 150 feet. It took everything in me not to throw up on the bus on the way home. I then bought wine in an effort to drink myself further into the less-than-no-self-worth category and walked the two blocks to my apartment. I poured a glass of wine, sat down on my couch and didn't move from there until the next morning, spending all night staring straight ahead. I drank the rest of the wine for breakfast and then contemplated taking a shower before thinking better of it and drinking another bottle of wine while working on a painting. I went out with some friends that night and they got me righteously intoxicated and, thinking I was hungry, I ate some chicken strips. At this point, I hadn't eaten anything more than a few crackers here and there (nor managed more than an hour or two of sleep per night) in the five days previous. I came home and painted some more and sometime around 6am, I threw up.
I figured it was because I had the gall to eat some convenience store chicken strips in a dirty Seattle taxicab while wearing a shirt that says VEGETARIAN across the bosom. When I went to dinner the next night with my former roommate and one of my best ladies, I realized I'd assumed wrong. That shining moment of truth hit me right as I was throwing up chow mein (I am terribly sorry for that visual). Food has not been my friend. That night, a neighbor that I went to high school with sent me an email and told me to come over and tell him all the reasons why men are terrible. I trudged over in my pajamas and slippers and tear stains and plunked down on his couch and I couldn't think of one reason why men are horrible; it was just the opposite. I think he was a little taken aback at my proclamation of love for menfolk and then we looked at baseball cards until 1am. That was a baby step.
Breakup aside, I got some rather terrible news about someone dear this week. Because my employers are wonderful, kind, sweet people who cry when I cry, I was at home the first three days of this week, which is good. I received a call that someone I love very much stopped breathing and was able to go and say goodbye to him before he passed away. Not long after I left his bedside, he stopped breathing again, but it was final this time. All over again, I felt hollow and empty and angry and despondent, but I had dinner plans with a friend that I've not been able to get to know as well as I wanted. I dreaded it, but I went out anyway and when the waiter came around, I ordered food. Then I ate it. I didn't throw up at the sight of it and I managed to chew and swallow it. Granted, I didn't keep it down after I got home, but it was a start.
Back to this bagel. After dinner with the former roommate, he accompanied me to the grocery store. I'd say he was being a pal, but I was wearing a dress and strappy little shoes and I think he probably felt like a heel leaving me to walk home in those monstrosities (PRETTY monstrosities!), so he talked as I shopped. Realizing that I had absolutely no food at home, I grabbed some bagels and some juice and some half and half for my coffee (the one thing that is always welcome in this tummy!). On top of that, I bought pasta and paper towels and treats for my dog and cat. On the way to the checkstand, I grabbed three cans of tuna. Ex roomie asked incredulously, "Wait...you're going to eat that?" "Yes I AM," I replied. "Okay. You just go ahead and call me when you want me to come and get those from you," he said. I rolled my eyes and rang up my own groceries and went home.
With both losses this past week hitting me in the same sore part of my heart, I left all of my groceries (except the half and half - coffee is IMPORTANT!) on the kitchen floor next to the dress and strappy shoes I took off as soon as I walked in the door. Existing and living are two very different planes, you see.
Between then and now, there've been the loveliest nights of sleep ever. There've been cocktails. There've been friends rallying to my side to tell me they love me and ask if I need anything. There have been oddly serendipitous introductions and equally delightful run-ins with people I have not seen in a very long time. Each of these things I look at as a baby step. Every single tear I cried? The same. I am hardly existing. No, no. I am thriving. A friend of mine named Lauren refers to herself as a phoenix, as she's come out on top of things that would likely shatter a lot of people permanently. Now I know how that feels. When have I smiled this brightly and taken every single second as an opportunity like I am? Not in a great number of years.
This morning, I woke up and took a long bath and worked some more on a painting and then I walked into the kitchen. I picked my dress and shoes up off the floor and before I knew it, I'd chopped some celery and pickle and shredded some sad lettuce and I was preparing to sit down and eat these things inside of a bagel. Let it be known that the former roommate mocked my tuna-buying rampage because I hate tuna. The only time tuna sounds good to me is if I am neeeding something to shove me from "I HATE THE WORLD" into "Hello, sunshine!" It has always been this way, and I suppose there's some correlation between that and the homelife I had with my grandmother when I was little but the bottom line is that I really, really hate tuna. Always. Forever.
Suddenly, nothing sounded more delicious. When I realized what I'd done while on autopilot there, I put the stupid bagel down and only then did I cry. I haven't cried in three days now, which five days ago seemed like an impossible goal, and now I was crying over a bagel (not a very chewy one, at that. hmph) in my kitchen and reaching for my camera so that I could take a picture of this stupid thing that will be forever burned into my memory as "the second I realized I was okay."
So there's your update. Girl gets dumped. Girl wants to die. Girl doesn't die, but someone else does. Girl makes a sandwich and cries with joy.
I'll have you know that as I typed this up, I ate every bit of that silly bagel and it shows no signs of leaving any time soon. Nothing has ever tasted better in my entire life and while I am repulsed that I put fish parts in my mouth, I think I will eat the same thing for dinner tonight. Two meals in one day! That 25lbs I lost over the last 10 days may find me again, but that's ok. I am smiling so enormously that I could cry all over again, but I won't because I am not simply existing any more and that feels so, so splendid.
