I wrote a thing about an album I love and I got carried away, and instead of posting it here I submitted it to a publication I love, called The Morning News, thinking maybe they’d like to publish it there.
So I have nothing to share tonight, except to say that I’m feeling better than I was earlier in this low-self-esteem week, and that I was saved by my wife, and good friends, and my novel-in-progress, and a 1,500-word thing I wrote about a cherished album that is probably uncool but nevertheless saved my uncool life.
Masking and withdrawing are easy and have immediate benefits, which is why I sometimes choose them, even though they’re morbid acts that rot me from the inside.
What if life naturally feels a little shadowy, sad, and wrong-footed most of the time?
That seems obvious when I type it. But here I am (and I’ll bet you’re the same) often feeling like a failure because life doesn’t always feel bright and beautifully balanced.
What if I embraced dissatisfaction, doubt, loneliness, etc., as natural qualities of life, and not necessarily as results of my own shortcomings? What if I accepted the negatives as a normal, permanent dusk?
I might begin to see the occasional lights — fulfillment, belief, connections with others — not as inadequate rarities, but as wonderful anomalies. I might even view some of them as successes.
Good days would feel fantastic. The other days would simply feel normal (shadowy, sad, and wrong-footed) instead of feeling like good days I’d managed to fuck up.
I’m going to cook more often, which means I need to learn how.
I can handle some of the basics, like starting fire with a magnifying glass, and I’m good at following instructions, so I ought to develop quickly. You won’t be demanding to eat at our house, but if you visit and I’m cooking, you’ll probably be able to recognize the meal. “This is meat,” for example, “with a side of green plants.”
One obstacle to becoming a better cook is that I’m not a gourmand. I simply don’t care. Maybe this will change.
An important factor in this cooking endeavor is my wife’s celiac disease. For her, GF is not a fashionable lifestyle choice. Her villi curl up and die if she eats gluten. If I’m going to cook things, I need to focus on meals that don’t attack my wife’s villi.
Gluten-free pizza crust often had a weird texture and a weirder aftertaste. Imagine the fabled paste-eating kindergartener growing up to become a pizza chef who insists on using one special ingredient in all of his dough.
I looked up well-reviewed recipes online and found a promising option, which I made for the family tonight. It was good! We all liked the crust, including our dog Bones. That’s him in the photo above. The smell of pepperoni gave him a crazed blurry expression.
Here’s the homemade gluten-free pizza recipe if you’re interested.