When I'm sick...

I really start craving my dad's chicken porridge.

Simple, but takes a good part of the day to make properly, with only a whole chicken, rice, and a little ginseng and Chinese dates for good measure (and their medicinal properties). He takes the time to shred the chicken for me after it's all stewed together and the rice is perfectly soft, choosing only the white breast meat because I don't like dark meat that much. A little salt and it's warm perfection for my belly.



I've been feeling rather ill this week and am fighting the urge to go whining to my dad to take care of me.

New Space, New Vibe

I think I'm going to come into the office on Sunday with the sole intention of redecorating my cubicle.

Things have been rather depressing in the office and I think it's impacting my productivity (I'm very sleepy at work and I typically equate sleepiness with depression with myself). Perhaps a lively and well-coordinated corner will brighten my mood and allow me to blow past my deadlines with ease.

That and I've accumulated an unusual pile of things as people have left the office (and decided I was the person to give things to) and they either need to be trashed or memorialized.

Coming in on a Sunday also will be a great excuse to check out the Hole in the Wall burger joint for lunch, seeing as it's only a few blocks away.

Two Reasons Why Life is Pretty Good

The typical, kick-off-the-conversation question:
How is life?

The typical, continue-the-conversation response:
Pretty good.

Quick call and response. Practiced. Natural.
But, when asked to provide two reasons why life is pretty good, I had to think for a moment.

What is making life so good these days?
There's the having-a-job thing.
The obnoxious and smelly, but ultimately cute cat thing.
The lovely parents who send me back home with oodles of Korean food thing.
The roommates who clean to de-stress and leave the apartment looking spic-and-span thing.
The roommates who are just all-around the greatest people to live with thing.
The boy who keeps me warm because I am fully incapable of body core temperature control on my own thing.
The girlfriends who shower me with endless amounts of support and love thing.


Here's to Tuesdays thinking about the good things in life.

How far do I have to go to get to you? Many the miles

I haven't even kept track of the number of days/weeks we haven't spoken. Despite all those tears, I guess it was a lot easier to move on from that relationship that I thought it would be. I dreaded that conversation, writing to my friends about it, asking for advice of what I thought would be impending doom.

And then, it happened.
At night, as it always does.

I was trying to be reasonable, to not be angry with him for keeping me waiting for several weeks while he sorted out his thoughts. The anger didn't pass until I admitted my frustration, and then poof... gone... and we were talking again.

The conversation proceeded far more easily than expected. It was easier once I gave into the inevitability of it all. Of course we wouldn't stay friends. Feelings were too strong-- feelings of love and hate, of comfort, of trust and distrust. They were all there and a friendship can't function with so many conflicting emotions.

I made him promise me that we would see each other again at some point in the future. My first-love-silliness makes me believe that we will find each other again and love each other in a way that we never could before. But then again, it could be as simple as keeping in touch. It's what I do. I'm a pack rat-- I keep everything, including ex-boyfriends. It would be exciting to see how far he's come along in the world in five years time. I'm certain he will be doing amazing things, making me envious of his travels and worldly experiences.

And though I don't miss him, I want to talk to him. I need clarification about what went wrong. Did I really make so many mistakes as to cause the terrible breakdown of our relationship? I am doomed to repeat them? Was I that selfish and careless about his feelings, or was he just using me as a scapegoat for his own role in our demise? And, without knowing this, how do I know that I won't do the same thing all over again with someone new?

I don't need reassurances from the new. I need reassurances from the old. The new doesn't know what I am capable of, and I don't know what he's capable of. But the old? We've been through it before. We can't study anything but history, so I'm trying to study my history, but I can't. I have half the pages in the textbook... he has the other half. I'm getting stuck, mid-sentence.

I need someone to tell me I didn't fuck up that badly.
I need someone to tell me that I won't fuck up that badly this time around either.