Waiting to work with someone in the library. I have been really productive today. For some reason I have been addicted to the show Pushing Daisies. It's a really feel-good series with 1-dimensional characters and honestly...it's depressing me a lot.
Thinking about the stir fry that I cooked tonight I remember all the past times that I have made the dish in great company. Memories can be beautiful torture at times, but I wouldn't trade them for anything. It takes me back to the barn, high school, and a time where I had a lot more veggies to choose from. Most of all, I remember people. Matt Clark, Kyle, KTD, and Josh would come over for stir fry occasionally...and it never was quite perfect.
I had a great one tonight with my roommate. Everything was perfect, although I could've used a bit of lamb in it. Maybe some hot sauce would have stimulated my gustatory cells just right. Although, underneath it I remembered what my mom always used to say: "Cooking is an expression of love"
Dad always used to make me a full breakfast in the morning. Eggs, french toast, fresh bacon, and soymilk. Sometimes I think that my deviation from his faith is betrayal. I feel pulled back at times. Free otherwise.
Specifically the smell of italian spices and onions makes me think of the tactile sensation of physical contact with someone. Sometimes I feel like I muse at this thought as though it is a goldfish...foreign and contained, isolated. It has its place in a realm of chemistry that I can't endure.
The perfect amount of salt is necessary for it as well. Too much and you feel heavy and your throat is miserable. Not enough and it's tough to swallow.
This is going to be a busy week. Archan is expecting a summary of a paper that I haven't read. I have been studying Spanish all day...and it seems like I never get the time to enjoy the small things.
Dinner was amazing. I am hungry already.
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