February 24, 2004
All Good Things...
In a dream
You were sitting there waiting by the door for me
And I got the opportunity
To experience the experience once again
How it could have maybe been
But in real life
-Grandaddy
Canevale time. Or, how Sunny was sick, and didn't publish the day's menu, and I didn't want to be outdone by the Dining Hall. Yes. That was a little joke. Me making fun of all of you little Marlboro meal plan students. And by little, I, of course, mean that in a manner of speaking way. Ahem. Anyways, please don't hate me. It's not kosher. Or lenten.
Lasagna Canevale (portabellas, eggplant, soyrizo, miso tofu, tempeh bacon, spinach), Schiacciata alla Fiorentina, Broccoli with Pine Nuts (I accidentally ate all the breadsticks before I took the picture [don't ask, please])
Zipulas
OMG. I am going straight to hell for these. And if they served these in hell, I'd be looking around for good intentions, trying to find the pathway there. Potato saffron dough fried in UNGODLY amounts of oil, which is then used to soak up UNGODLY amounts of powdered sugar. I could die right now. (In many different ways.)
My sister makes me happy sometimes
I was feeding my sourdough tonight, and thought about making sourdough pancakes instead of all of that. But then I remembered I'm Irish, not English. I remembered, too, when my dad used to make sourdough pancakes for dinner once in a while. I must have been really young, because it was when he was a bachelor. He wore a blue apron that had a little red "J" on the front. He used to make cheese rarebit, too. It was always curdled; I'm not sure if it's supposed to be that way.
It's strange how these moments pop up, and haunt you in the middle of the night. Really, those are just fragments of memories I have. They seem happy, though. I've seen pictures, too, of me, when I was young, and I seemed happy. I wish I had some way of remembering, in a meaningful sense, happy memories with my dad. They seem important. They seem like something I should have. Something I need to have.
I miss my mom, too. It's been so long since I talked with her. She didn't even send me a Christmas card this year. I was so wrapped up in my little world of happiness, I didn't notice. And now I do. And I miss her so terribly much. And I don't understand why she can't call me. Or write me. Or email me with her stupid little capital letters that she uses because she can't read the screen well anymore.
I miss the things I shouldn't miss. I want the things I shouldn't want. I need the things I shouldn't need.
I go back to the beginning, and look at all those measured spoonfuls, and wonder if it's still worth it, after all.
I'm like a broken record
That you can play
Repeating as if it matters
Everything I want to say
I'll be all right
As long as it matters
As long as you're here with me now
Forget that time
It's nothing we touch and see
All this is fine
Even as it crashes down on me
-Gin Blossoms
Posted by Sean at February 24, 2004 11:58 PM