Luminous Viscosity

Today was MLK Day. I was expecting a day off work (very entitled of me). That didn't happen (we're on call) and logic didn't apply.

That set me off. Last week the unraveling with job #1 started. It'd been weeks in the making. I joked with RJ that, hey, the honeymoon had to end sometime, right?

That was indeed part of my borderline diagnosis: that black-and-white assessment with people. Either I put them on a pedestal or, once they've crossed me, I scorn. Often with no turning back.

This could explain why I have never stayed at one job for long. I always wind up disillusioned and dismayed. I cut people off before they hurt me some more. The three and half year stint at Merry Lore was a miracle.

Once again, feeling disrespected and disregarded was eating at me. I was just a hot pot about to boil over. I tried not to take it out on RJ, but suffice to say he was not unaffected.

Off to work I went, like a trooper, trying to stay positive. Or, should I say, "turn" positive. That bitter taste of resentment was not cool.

I discovered that many changes had occurred over the weekend with no advance notice. I do not like change. I tried to cope without looking like it was a great challenge.

This morning, while waiting for word on whether I was to report to work, I had major anxiety, again, regarding food, present and future, driven, always, of course, by fear of hunger. Having a semblance of control is crucial to my sanity.

I dreamt of making chicken adobo, arguably the national dish of The Philippines, with variations and versions of it across the Pacific. I missed my piggy friends (who happen to be Filipinas). It's one of those very tasty one-pot-wonders that are oh-so-simple to make. I mean it's practically a five-ingredient recipe. Yet, 1.5 decades after I've been introduced to it, I've never attempted. Until today.

I hadn't been sure if I'd have the will left in me after my shift. Yet, I shopped, I came home, I cooked. I was determined to have (real) food for the next three days, I guess. I surprised myself.

Again, the dish is a no-brainer. Minimal prepping and supervision. Hey, I'm blogging now while the sucker is simmering, aren't I? (And it's smelling mighty good around here now, might I add, like a real home.)

Food is never about food.

Tonight I just wanted to know I could take care of myself. And my hubby (or feel that I could). I just wanted to feel worthy aside from who I am at work. Work doesn't define me.

Happiness shouldn't be relying on an external source to validate you. Work hasn't been validating. So I turn to food. Still not very enlightened. But it's all I've got for now:

I don't have any children, I don't have a definite career path, I don't know where my life is going. But hey, I can cook.