Propel Me Across the Country Pie

I’m determinedly ignoring my current panoramic view, which features scaffolding and more scaffolding. Is it possible that a new layer went up overnight?

It’s only temporary, it’s only temporary, it’s only temporary. Say it 594273x fast. Say it, just as you’ve been saying it for the last 11 months. Say it as often as you need.

Say it when lunch starts out on the floor, again.


Say it when you realize that social media is your single biggest connection to anyone. Say it when you feel like you need to go to iPhone rehab. Say it when you feel like you’re only good at Pinterest.


Say it when your internal alarm goes off at 4:30am, so that you can write and workout before going to work. Say it when “going to work” is somewhat of a stretch. Say it when you feel like you’re going to lose your mind if you don’t interact with someone soon.

Say it when there are no treadmills left. Say it when you’re on your second pull-up and your abs are twisting in two.

Say it when you can’t imagine ever liking eggs again.


Say it when you make a beautiful main meal and there is nobody there to enjoy it but you.

About that main meal: In order to combat loneliness/boredom/general malaise/the overwhelming temptation to have cereal for dinner, try making Dover sole in a toaster oven. Start by layering each fillet with anything and everything that sounds appealing. Ideas: the roasted garlic you had to buy from the Antipasto bar, the handful of spinach you recently rescued, the Baby Bella mushrooms you sautéed in butter the way your mother taught you, and the sliver of Pecorino Ginepro you paid $29.99/lb. for at Whole Foods. Wash your hands and roll up the fillets. Wider ends first. Or maybe the narrower ones? They won’t look too pretty either way. Sprinkle truffle salt and cayenne pepper on top. (This will help.) Arrange them in a neat little row on a lightly coated baking dish. Insert said dish into an alarmingly red toaster oven. Stand by. Definitely test with a fork. Snap a picture and send it to someone who is happy for your happiness and sad for your sadness.

It’s only temporary.

Say it when you see a couple together — so deliriously happy, so obviously newly in love. And then, very quickly, say it while you slap yourself for being small and cynical and so single.

Say it when you miss him.

Say it when seasonal depression descends. Say it when it feels like spring will never come.


Say it when you feel like you’re not doing a very good job of enjoying where you are. Say it when the present does not feel like a gift — even though it surely is, by nearly all accounts.

Say it when you pick the washing machine that must have recently decided it could do without the spin cycle. Say it when you discover THEY ARE ALL LIKE THAT.

Say it when the only thing that sounds good is grilled cheese, 10 ways. (What are vegetables.)

Say it when you look at the pre-paid train ticket in your wallet.

It’s only temporary.

Say it when you disappoint your dad (who knows — maybe tomorrow you will wake up an engineer).

Say it when you’re in line at Trader Joe’s. Say it when you start to cry and you aren’t sure why.

Say it when you’d give anything for a trip to Grandma’s house, but you can’t go. Can’t go, ever again.


Say it when you feel like you’re failing miserably to be someone with an excellent handle on things.

Say it when you haven’t the faintest idea what you want to do (but you’re quite sure it will end up having little to do with who you want to be).

Say it when you do have a thought about where you’d like to go, but you’re just not sure it’ll work out any better. Say it when fear of the unknown squashes hope for brighter days.

Say it when you would like nothing more than an easy recipe for Propel Me Across the Country Pie.


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