Nakednessss

I'm naked in most my dreams. It happens in strange places, too. For example, I'll be in the market and shopping completely naked. It's not like my dream is erotic--I'm just the only one in the grocery store naked and we're all going about our business.

Sometimes, I have the nervous/naked dreams. They are the ones where I'm suddenly naked and back in high school. Those are terrifying because everyone either makes fun of me or they all want me, sexually. Either way it's very uncomfortable.

I'll wake up in the middle of the night sweating. I suddenly feel paranoid about being naked in my own bed. It's such an awful feeling that I'll leap out of bed and into my closet. I frantically dig for clothes to hide my bare skin. Then I get back in bed and let the anxiety dissipate before even attempting to fall back asleep.

When my alarm clock buzzes the morning after one of my freak-outs I always feel really stupid. I'm usually tangled up in uncomfortable clothing (I hate wearing anything to bed). And on rare occasions, I'm fully clothed. I mean, my panic attack that night was so extreme that I felt the need to put enough clothing on, that if need be, I could go to class without altering my attire.

Pondering...

Crawling into bed, for me, is like swimming in a pool of abstract ideas. I splash around for a little while as if I have no idea how to swim. I think this is because when my mind wanders when I'd rather be sleeping, I feel like I'm being robbed of my sleep. The bandits sweep in, steal my trippy dreams, they make a mess, and all they leave are stupid, useless thoughts.

So, tonight I decided I'd curl up with bed with a good book. My rationale behind this was: having an author's whitty words fill my thoughts would be just the security system I needed. The novel on this evening's menu was Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs.... until I realized it was boring me to tears. I mean, it's an edgy book that Chuck Klosterman filled with pop culture insights, but as soon as the book was in print, the references were already out of date. I didn't realize this until I read Klosterman's intro--after I bought the book. That man probably values blogs. He apologizes about his out of date references in his book's prelude and blames it on the fact that once mostly anything makes it to print, it's probably outdated.

Since my plan failed, I have to resort to Plan B (and I don't mean the morning after pill)--sharing the stupid things that flood my brain with everyone out in cyberspace. And I think I'll use visuals! Here we go...

Sleepy Daze

The gymnasium packed with my peers gawking at me as a short, angry, middle-aged man scolds me. He has an ongoing list of attributes are responsible for my delinquency. After what seems an eternity, my face is on fire and everyone finally gets up and moves out of the gym. I ask one of my former teachers what I did to deserve that "capital punishment" and she had no response. So I went to the classroom that I converted to my bedroom and changed out of my uniform into a t-shirt and panties. A cross between shock and depression overwhelmed me. I lost all control of my muscles and I laid on my small bed.

Suddenly, I wake up with the urgent need to find a bathroom. I turn, open the door and suddenly am in the gymnasium where my humiliation took place. It's at this exact moment I realize my ass is showing because I didn't bother to add any clothing to the t-shirt and panties I fell asleep in. I was already out of my room so I decide to keep walking around. I walk through a door and enter a home attached to the school.

It's dark and dusty and looks like it is in the middle of reconstruction. As I wander through it, I begin to lose track of how to get out. Lost and confused, nothing else matters to me except getting back to my room. I see a young boy crouched down in the dust and debris staring back at me. I'm positive he comes here often and probably steals anything he can find.

A startling ringing noise begins to fill the building and I know I have to get out. I find a door and run though it. I'm outside and inching my way around the corner of the building, then Tim wakes me up.

Recipe #1 for Two

As soon as I woke up yesterday, I knew my morning routine would not satisfy me. I wiggled in bed as I watched the game shows that usually entertain me in the early hours. I had to get up and get out—I had things to do!

I slipped into the pants that I purchased an hour before my new prized possession. It was the bandit making my bed so damn uncomfortable. The night I bought it, I spent hours reading (and drooling over) it. I made lists and lists of things I wanted to cook. I filled a little pink flip notebook with the recipes for the three meals. I threw it in my purse, grabbed my cloth shopping bags and flew out the door.

I stared at can goods for a while at store number one. With excitement running through my veins, having to stand still and inspect a wall of cans (that seemed to hide only the goods I needed) seemed very annoying. Thankfully, after what seemed forever, I made my way to store number two.

Everything about store number two makes me happy. It is located in the area of town with unique shops and boutiques. I also get to drive up and down massive hills to get to it. Then when I walk into the market, there is an area of neatly organized shopping carts. These carts never squeak and exist in two sizes, both are smaller than the average supermarket's. The first cart is two forest-green baskets stacked on a wagon designed to make them both accessible, I used this one when I first discovered the market. The second is a shiny metal cart of the standard shape (just smaller) and some of them are tricked out with flower holder-vases in their front, left corners. Now that I buy all my food here, I use this one. Shopping at this market is a pleasant experience.

Most of the butchers, bakers and cashiers recognize me, partly because I'm there a couple times a week, but mostly because I'm young. All different walks of life browse this market daily and no one ever seems like being there is a drudgery. It was the highlight of my shopping experience yesterday as I tried to check off every item on my recipe list. Every time I asked someone in the meat or cheese department for an ingredient, they quickly inquired of what I was about to make. A butcher even asked me if my pork roast was for a culinary class. The cashiers jokingly asked if they could come to dinner.

When it came to preparing dinner, I quickly realized I was lacking a main ingredient—a Dutch oven. I was dumbfounded by my stupidly not noticing this earlier. There was no way I could braise the pork without one. In my exact hot-damn, what am I gonna do?-moment my mother called. She's exactly the person I needed to talk to in that moment because she went to culinary art school. The second she asked what I was up to, I poured my dilemma in her lap in an attempt to say—Here! Take it! Please, say you can help me! And help me she surely did. She said she'd wire me the money to buy a Dutch oven. I'm good with my money, but I also don't have a job and work off an allowance. The idea of having to drop a small load on a cast iron Dutch oven was mildly terrifying.

I love my new Dutch oven. It's a very attractive culinary accessory and makes for delicious braising. The braising of the hour was pork and it went in delicious enchiladas. My kitchen became a Mexican Catina! As Tim and I ate, we both purred with each bite. The "it" factor was inside my enchilada. I've got a good feeling it'll be inside my chicken Parmesan tonight, too!

Between Ovens and TP

Recently I realized that I did not want to touch my oven, possibly, ever again. I noticed this as my lifeless hand let my fork fall limp. I was starving earlier that day—during my Wednesday 11:00-1:45 classes, then I went home and fixed a meal. Between eating it and looking at it, I lacked even an inkling of interest. I was bored.

I woke up yesterday with an epiphany. It was a mildly costly cure to my problem but I knew it was the necessary revival for my lackluster lunches—the perfect cookbook. I went about my daily routine and tried to not be distracted by my plan. The moment I got out of class, I would buy it. I was on a mission.

Well, I got a little distracted at first. As soon as I got to the shops, the thought of new clothes (ooh, shiny…) was more alluring than a stupid book. But as soon as I got that out of my system—Tim showed up. Tim, aka Distraction #2, walks into the clothing store as I stood at the register. Like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs, I was confused at first by seeing my fiance somewhere I hadn't planned on being and hadn't told him I was shopping. The beauty of Tweeting (and being familiar with someone enough that he can piece together ambiguous posts) is being completely surprised when someone finds me. Life becomes a big game of Hide and Seek. Being found yesterday had a fabulous reward system: a free meal. Tim dragged me out to lunch—poor me.

I ate mussels at the restaurant. They were slightly more interesting than my pathetic homemade meals had become but effectively drew my attention back to my need. If there were formerly any doubt in my mind about needing a cookbook, each bite dispelled it. The mussels were perfectly fine, just lacking in that one factor I was determined to seek and conquer.

Tunnel vision set, I made my way to the cookbook section in the bookstore. However, there was a rumble in the pit of my stomach. I was too stubborn to acknowledge its existence (in hopes it would disappear) and went examining covers. I looked them up and down for a while (because no lukewarm recipe would make its way into my home) until I saw the one, Cooking for Two. I was touched! I am two… or at least I will be. And I definitely already cook evening meals for two. It was so romantic. I knew I had to take it home and play house with Timmy.

Then I took it to the bathroom with me—I needed reading material.