Just Wear Some Boots and Heal

Today has been a very long day... but I got a lot done. My foot is indeed broken, finally made it to the doctor today, but nothing to be done except wear the right shoes (hiking boots are so sexy) and sing Kumbayah to it... but the trip to the 'regular' doc was surprisingly easy and refreshing, no serious talks, no warnings.. just a 'rest and ice it' attitude. That was exceedingly nice. I'm so tired of seeing doctors lately who have nothing good to say.

So I spent today carrying around my urine in a giant jug. Its a terrible dehumanizing process, being sick. The medical system tries to embarrass you whenever possible and tie you down to your home at all times. I have had to turn in my lab work for a week, but collecting 24 hours worth of urine and then being present to draw blood when you turn it in is surprisingly hard when you travel for a living. To make it happen, I had to carry a jug around work all day yesterday.. including the holiday parties last night (so much fun) and then show up today to turn it in as early as I could.. which of course, was after the office left for their annual holiday party (the irony - my pee should be a feature at every holiday party?), meaning I had to then take my samples across town to another draw station. Me and my urine drove all over Dallas today... looking for someone to give a shit that we exist. It's humbling being in the car with your pee for long enough that you start to feel its weight on you from the passenger seat. Do you know what 2000 ml feels like in your hand? What it feels like to schlep around from place to place? Exhausting.

So finally, I found someone to take the pee. I had to leverage my limited knowledge of the lab business and sweet talk someone, but I finally found a place for my hard work to land. After that, another hour of grocery shopping, and a terrible cleaning episode in my house, I was ready for a little finery in my life... hence the cooking. I am often affronted by my talents, and always surprised when I do something that even I consider noteworthy - I'm a tough critic. Today was the perfect example. 4 new recipes, all adaptations that I created to make the perfect dish... and all of them were executed flawlessly and tasted their best, by me! When I ate meat, I cooked it effortlessly, people don't give enough credit to veg cooks, since they think proteins are harder than the rest of cuisine... but protein is easy. It tastes good, even when it's poorly executed. Today was no different, just easy. I made a mustard and herb glaze, marinated the salmon while I worked this afternoon, and broiled it last-minute. The salad dressing was inspired by Celebration's basil vinaigrette... I have a rosemary plant in my back window and felt like fresh herbs in December needed to be in my mouth. The bread was entirely reminiscent of my trip to Iceland in 1999... I ate probably 2 lbs of butter in 10 days, combined with an exorbitent amount of pumpernickel and smoked salmon. I went at this time of year, expressly to see the Aurora Borealis... and I'm about to embark on a trip to see astronomical events in cold weather. I feel the same sense of excitement and panic, wonder and oversaturation. I can't wait to be on my back in the desert, just me and the sky... facing off, as if we were both interesting enough to stare each other down. More importantly, as if we're the only things that exist.
I did feel overwhelmingly sad that I had no pumpkin pie to finish off my perfect meal... there's always tomorrow.
Something that has been on my mind this week, since the 70th anniversary of Pearl Harbor was Wednesday... was the internment camps we forced the Japanese to inhabit during the war. I'm incredibly sad that just 70 years ago, cruelty was something that was second nature for americans. We believed in the common ideal, what would help the war effort, even if that meant imprisoning our brothers and sisters. We removed thousands of people from their communities, their livelihoods and their homes, and sent them to places like Crystal City, Texas... which is a ghost town in South Texas. Even worse, the general attitude of americans toward 'our' enemies was of disgust, and it continued into our communities, affecting our Japanese, German and Italian family. I hope to heaven that if we're there ever again, I'll know hate from 'americanism' but I don't know if I can handle another situation where I'm shown which of my friends hate indescriminately. 9/11 showed me enough.

I love food, especially asparagus. I love music, especially from Ratatat. I love art, especially from female photographers. I love dancing, especially to aircraft control radio.. and I love looking forward to seeing good friends. My spirit is decidedly not broken, just my feet and some other shit.