Sharing a Meal

I think I understand why my parents cook for so many people now. I aways enjoyed eating those big meals, but I thought preparing them was a major pain. But this week, for some reason or another, I wanted to do a big dinner for everyone. It didn't exactly go as I planned. It took two more hours to get everything ready, and half the people I invited couldn't come. I burnt the second round of garlic bread, and I blew my money for a week on a pyrex pan.

But I loved it. There's a certain satisfaction you get from cooking for someone, from sharing a mealy you made. And it's not just from eating or being told your food is good. It's from serving someone. Helping someone. What is it about food, especially good food, that gets people to let their guard down? Why does sharing a meal bring people so much closer together? I hadn't felt that close to those people in a long time, and I probably won't again until the next time I cook.

I don't know what it is. I still don't, but I wanted to try again with breakfast. Pancakes had a few glitches too. This time WAY more people came than I expected. I ran out of eggs and buttermilk, and I think the second batch tasted a little powdery. Still though, I can't get over the feeling I get feeding people. Or the feeling I get running around the kitchen trying to pour drinks, tend three pans, and mix bater for the next batch. It's work, a LOT of work, but it's satisfying. Half the people didn't help with groceries like they said the would, and we didn't finish breakfast until 1 pm. But who cares? It made me happy to do it.

I may need to do this more often.

When I Remember. . .

"That boy is gone.
Sometimes I miss the way he wept at night.
To be still and not run,
To be rocked to sleep in your light.
These days there is not much that will bring tears to my eyes,
But when I remember who i am and who you are,
When I remember. . .
A cloud moves in, rain falls, thunder strikes, and sunshine breaks through the clouds.

I am walking blind,
So distracted that I dont even feel when you hold me.
When did I grow such thick skin?
You are my sunshine and rain,
My joy and sweet pain.
I'm a spotless stain.
That boy is gone,
But nobody moves me like you do
When I remember. . .

A cloud moves in, rain falls, thunder strikes
And sunshine breaks through the clouds
I can cry out of sorrow and joy
Every drop of rain turns into a crystal in the sun
So wash my eyes, my clothes, my skin, my bones, my soul
My feet, my love
I'm not forgotten
I'm in your thoughts cause I feel sunshine in the rain

To this day nobody moves,
Nobody,
Nobody moves me like you do."


It's funny when parts of your past poke their heads into your life again. I used to listen to those guys all the time when I was younger, but I never knew that they wrote this, or anything like it. This is the cry of my soul. I am something more than what I am now.

Procrastination is like masturbation: in the end, you're only screwing yourself

You know how everyone says that you can't be successful if you put things off until the last minute? It's one of those things I just sort of smiled and nodded to, but basically ignored. I had great grades in high school and college, was involved in everything, and was still incredibly lazy. I did my homework the night before, the morning of, or during class, and got through tests and discussions largely through my memory and my ability to bullshit. I figured if I worked hard during practice and rehearsal, turned in a passable assignment, and paid attention during class; I would be fine. There were a couple of close shaves, but I got A's, a starting spot, scholarships, and roles. I never took the idea of preparing very seriously.

Until this semester started kicking my ass. I have homework assignments out the wazoo, a job, passport and scholarship applications, 18 hours of class time, and no clue how I'm going to get caught up. Sorry, world, but Spring break was not long enough. I might have to mimic my roommate and hide myself away for a few weeks, venturing out only for class and food.