I almost didn’t write, today. Because this is real life, and we aren’t living in Candyland, and we have a lot of ducks that are really, really not in a row.
In order to get cracking, though, we need to think about a few things. Such as is this a good fit. Meaning: this city, that job, this apartment, that boy. Also: those jeans. (Those jeans…they may need to be retired.)
Can we skip over talking about my maybe too-small pants, for now? Could we talk about good bets, instead? I’d rather do that.
Take the chicken curry my mom and I had while I was home. Coriander, cumin, turmeric, garam masala, coconut — these are flavors that show up together, time after time. They play off of each other nicely. Quite simply: they work.
We had something else for dinner that night too: a twisted loaf of bread. Filled with salty ham, sharp cheddar, and imported Dijon. And then stuffed some more, with miniscule and miraculously sour French pickles (otherwise known as cornichons).
Do all of these flavors belong? Well yes, they do. But not on the same plate. That deceptively simple little bread, with all of those things that go, was not coming anywhere near my curry. This was fine — I just ate the curry first, and then returned for the bread. No carb left behind! All was well in the world.
At the risk of losing you for a second here, let me tell you about what should have been a brilliant variation on that bread: little cubes of seasoned chicken, three different kinds of cheese, a whole lot of pesto, and a basket’s worth of fresh tomatoes.
I mean, chicken + cheese + pesto + tomato is practically a formula, it’s so good. But…let me tell you about what was a spectacular bore. That’s right. Tricked! We were totally tricked.
That’s sort of how I feel now. I’ve tried to pick things that seemed like they would be good bets. Leaving Maine, moving to NYC. Taking an unpaid internship, working my way up from the bottom. Breaking up with my polar opposite, dating someone more like my twin. Living alone, focusing on friendships.
These things…they may have all been good bets, at one point or another. Or on paper, at the very least. But now, in reality…it feels like nothing has quite come together. And nothing is coming together, either. It might actually all be falling apart.
I know that I can’t have it all. Or not all at once, anyway. But I would just like, you know, something. A scrap, with maybe some more to come. A scrap would be nice.