New Years is always somewhat underwhelming to me. The days and hours leading up to it are so full of possibility, of resolution-writing and vows to make yourself better with a fresh start, of an almost-mystic or spiritual fog that seems to blur reality a bit under a soft glow of anything can happen.
Much of it also likely has to do with the fact that I neither showered nor left the house on New Years Day, so the 48 hours of New Years felt like some kind of extended, suspended reality bringing with it the thought that I could spend the next 364 days in the same warmth of PJs and hermitude and new Sherlock episodes.
But then January 2nd rolls around, and it’s back to button-down shirts and the bustle of morning metro rides and the deeply tragic realization that 1/3 of the new season is already over, and nothing feels like it has changed at all.
I know it’s a great time of year when my two favorite pastimes – spending an afternoon strolling around the city with a constant supply of overpriced artisan coffee, and staying in bed, under the covers, for the entirety of the day – are totally socially acceptable. Especially the latter.
Take today, for example: I woke up at noon, threw off old pjs, took a hot shower (which consisted of equal parts Broadway singing and equal parts leaning against the tile wall and falling asleep), changed into a fresh pair of pjs, and sat on the couch watching chick flicks and bemoaning the difficulties of adulthood with Roods.
Now, I’m sprawled on the bed (and let me tell you, it took considerable effort to move from the living room to my bedroom), typing this up, and feeling so lazy that I’m not even sure I’ll muster up the strength to cook dinner. I may, in fact, just meld into the mattress and die here.
You might notice that my laziness has also extended to my food photography, though this is mostly because there is no natural light in my English basement, and I’m not sure I’m really about placing dessert on the stoop outside as passersby watch me hunch over in a pair of gloves and scarf to snap some shots of friggin’ cookies.
There’s quite little I remember about this weekend besides consuming an outrageous amount of cheese.
Well, no, that’s not all. There was some baking involved. Which is not actually so obvious since these photos are recycled from almost two years ago. But, Friday afternoon was dreary and rainy and the weather did not make for good natural lighting for photography, so I think this is acceptable.
I also really just needed easy access to this recipe and figured the Food Blog was an obvious choice.
I am an obsessive person. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now. Not OCD per se – there are no fidgety habits or rituals that must be performed in any semblance of routine – but, perhaps, passionate. About anything and everything that strike my fancy.
What I’m saying is: I don’t half-ass my interests. If I love something – a novel, a song, a movie, a TV series, a period of history or news article – I want everyone else to love it, too. It’ll be on my mind for hours upon hours, stretching into days and weeks. Not necessarily for incredibly long periods of time; I enjoy them for the days and weeks (and years, if it’s BBC Sherlock) that they’re a part of my life, and can look back on them in fondness months after the rush has dissipated.
It’s like metaphorical overdoses of oxytocin about anything of interest. Which is both psychologically disturbing and kind of odd, since I’ve been told time and time again that my outward appearance is that of avery stoic, very serious, calm and quasi-apathetic cynic. I am, in actuality, few of those things.
Well, okay, I am most of those things. But Noosh can attest that my obsessive tendencies would veer on the side of social embarrassment if they were ever made public. (Or, more public, I suppose, digital social sphere aside.) So, perhaps my subconscious mind recognizes this and represses it all whenever I step foot out of the apartment. In any case, I obsess. And one obsession that I’ve noticed does not seem to be dissipating any time in the near future (or, ever) is buying things online.
“The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say”
A good Fourth of July is spent the way you’d imagine it spent: in the company of good friends, good food, good conversation, and copious amounts of explosives. Lucky for me, being in Cville surrounded by none other than Zach, Michael, Jeremy, and the rest, it was bound to be quite an event.
When Zach sent me a hilariously applicable movie still of the first year Hogwarts students feasting at the Great Hall and told me, under no uncertain terms, to “prepare myself for dinner,” I knew it was going to be a good night.