Recovering

          I cooked today, for the first time in a long time. This seems to be a trend lately - recovering lost happinesses, rediscovering old loves.
          Yesterday, for example, I talked about books with a friend, which is something I haven't done in longer than I care to admit. Actually, it was nice sitting around talking at all. About anything. Aimlessly, without a deadline or purpose. Just letting a conversation wander, running into walls, stuttering and natural. I remembered how good it feels to get excited about something, no matter how embarrassing or banal. I've spent a long time being cool, being carefully detached, being academic or jaded. Sometimes it's good to let go and be unabashedly foolish.
          And today, my friend Brittany (who I met while I was in London) called. We talked for an hour, and it was as though no time had passed. It was easy to talk, without the awkward preliminaries that usually mark first conversations after long silences. It's such a female thing to do, chatting on the phone for extended periods of time, but it was endlessly good talking to her.
          This evening, my friend (it seems awkward to say "apartment-mate") and I decided to make dinner. We invented a recipe - chicken and broccoli soup. I'd forgotten how much I really love to cook. It's very nearly adventurous, sautéing things, chopping up vegetables, throwing in spices haphazardly, all guesswork, gambling on flavors.
          It's also good - just good, no other adjectives needed - knowing that after the work of it, there will be something to eat. It's algorithmic (provided you ignore the guesswork in inventing recipes). That's one of the reasons I miss, to my surprise, math. It's satisfying to follow an unchanging set of laws and equations and to come up with a correct answer. Easy.
          The soup, if you're wondering, turned out excellently.

          It's been a domestic sort of day. I went shopping at Target (I love those ridiculous cradle-to-grave stores, and even though I know I should be supporting small businesses, Target is so damned trendy - I can't help myself) and spent more than I probably should have. But I purchased a saucepan and trash bags and Kleenex and dishes and glasses and other apartment necessities (I know, more things, I'm aware, but they are necessities), as well as groceries. It was ... deeply satisfying.
          As I was pushing the cart around, unaccompanied, comparing prices, gathering supplies with which to make meals (not just food to be eaten alone, but ingredients), I had this sensation of autonomy. There was this feeling in my wrists, the vibration of the cart, heavy on its wheels, of being independent. It was the realization that this is an action I'll be executing in my life as an adult.
          Up until that point, all of my collegiate trips to Target have been aided by a basket, not a cart.
          Putting everything away, organizing the food in the fridge, stacking the dishes - it felt right. It's like cleaning my desk. I feel like I've got a handle on life when my desk is clean. Sort of.


          I haven't been able to concentrate lately. I feel all disjointed.

          I should probably go study Hebrew right now.