My Year of Strength and Stability
I have always been one to have many goals and dreams. I have a million and one hobbies and a dream for every single one. From writing and reading to painting and drawing to pole-dancing and gymming to baking and volunteering, I have so many interests and passions that it's hard to keep track. And the dreams: I have a dream to hang a painting in an art exhibit, to publish a novel and to finally figure out how to bake scones (the last hold out) without burning them.
It's a cliche in murder mystery programs that the perfectionist detective loves cooking elaborate and gourmet dinners to eat by themselves at an empty table. I don't care. I'll be that perfectionist detective who makes gourmet dinners to eat on their lonesome.
i'm trying to write my first book
Like many people, I signed on to do NaNoWriMo last year, in 2021. I actually beat the challenge, I wrote all of the words I needed and now my 'manuscript' of 110k words sits in my Google Drive completely motionless. I can't get up the energy to fix that ten-millionth plot hole that I found or that one character's consistent inconsistencies.
this is my first year away from home and i'm kind of happy about it
This is my first year away from home. The first year away from family, friends, and christmas stockings. Away from tinsel and baubles and flashing lights. Away from the Christmas spread with ham and gingerbread and trifle. No being crushed by too familiar hugs. No presents. I am so relieved.
Navy painted sky. Cerulean lakes for eyes. Cobalt kiss goodbye.
My brother is the roast master of the family. Roast pork, roast chicken, roast lamb - you name it, he'll roast it. For any major - or minor - family gathering, my brother is designated as head cook, a position that he does not take lightly. Wearing an apron like a badge of honour and whipping the signature tea towel of the experienced home-cook over his shoulder, he proudly struts around the kitchen, talking non-stop at the rate of easily a mile a minute. Every year for the holidays, he pain-stakingly prepares a roast that makes my mouth water as I write this. The roast meal that was cooked on the night in question was roast pork and it glistened as my brother pulled it from the oven and placed it on the bench. He grinned ear to ear like he had won a prize as everyone congratulated him.
Every day was the same. I would arrive at the aquarium as everyone else was leaving, all those families with the roudy, sticky kids, and me, just chewing gum and with my hat pulled low as I walked in. My bag slung over my shoulder. The building itself looked fairly small, but it had a way over looming over me as I wandered inside.