Going back to write old posts I'm seeing a troubling pattern here. P goes away. I eat pasta. How telling. It's definitely a girly pleasure that he doesn't get. He has no connection to those soft silky buttered carbs gliding down his lonely throat on a cold Midwest night. And I love to cook but somehow not if it's just for myself usually. When I do, its gotta be something exciting but more often I lean towards comfort foods, things that make me feel loved. Like this giant plate of linguine with jarred Vodka Sauce and added ground beef.
These skinny noodles feed not just my belly but my heart and my soul and my mind because we go way back. I knew them before they were called pasta. To when eating that boxed Chef Boy R Dee spaghetti kit helped me be that latch-key kid of the 70s. When all my friends had their parents home after school, mine were starting a restaurant that required all of their time, day and night. But my mom always left money so we could make the trip to Hep's Dairy store and a little extra for pop and Seyfert's BBQ potato chips. That meal fostered feelings that something was there warm and giving. I bought into it full on. I would gorge like a puppy and then sleep satisfied and content after watching all the night time variety shows. You can't replace real love with food, believe me I've tried. But you can patch that hole pretty good if you get enough of it.
Even though I love being alone, when P leaves it must trigger that old void. Hey, we all survive our childhoods though, unless we don't. Some don't. Now I do it just for the good eats and a little nod to that goofy little Carol Burnett lovin' kid back on Schele Avenue.
Received the latest CD batch of my husband's newest incarnation and my new steel toed bad ass boots for work.
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Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone at home?