Hey. How are you? Sorry It has been a while, but as tradition would have it, every year, or pretty much every year, around Thanksgiving, my world seems to take a dramatic shift in another direction. Such has been the case for as long as I can remember- at least for most of my adult life. For now I will spare you the details, and just say, its glad to be back to my blog again.
What I will say, though, is I am back on the job market. Sooner than expected, but I know it is for the better. Despite the day of personal meltdown due to the shock of such an unexpected event, I am glad I don't have to dread going to work anymore-something I always said I would never do-at least I didn't do it for too long. Phew!!
So besides the full speed ahead job search, I have been working on the other aspects of what I want to turn this blog into. I will still be writing here of course, but like i mentioned earlier, I plan to include many of my other interests and knowledge as well. Where to start, and how to organize all of the stuff up there onto the limitations of single web builder sites is quite a challenge-and even more time consuming, especially for a selective perfectionist such as my self.
What is a selective perfectionist you ask? Well, I don't believe in the perfection of everything I do, and it does not rule my life, thank goodness. But the things that I am particular about perfection, absolutely MUST be perfect. And I am my own worst and terrible critic.
Arts/crafts/design stuff- total perfectionist. My partner always says, "Leave it alone, it looks fine, you are going to mess it up!" And he's usually right. But maybe if he said another word other than "fine" I may actually listen to him and NOT mess it up. Maybe I should tell him that. Hmmm.
Mascara- perfection necessary. Okay so this may seem odd, or insignificant, but for me, it has to be perfect-Why? Well, because it is the only makeup I wear. I will occasionally opt in for some eyeshadow, liner and maaaaaybe some no smudge, no smear, can't belt sand it off lipcolor, on special occasions, but day to day, mascara only. I never ever wear any coverup/foundation or face makeup. Yuck. I work too hard to put something on my face that I am just going to sweat off later. Besides, I don't care how "natural" or hypoallergenic it is, its not good for your face- and the more you wear it, the more you need it. Why, again? because it can cause you to break out due to clogged pores and then you have to wear it because you are trying to cover up the blemishes, which only begin looking bigger so you cake it on even heavier- sounds like a money-maker for someone to me. eh-hem.. anyways. Mascara, Yes!
Cooking- Okay, so this is almost a sore subject for me now, but let me give you a bit of a backstory. Growing up, I spent most of my time with my grandmother, "Manga" is what I named her. I was her first grand child and after I couldn't say grandma, it came out Manga, and it stuck with her for the rest of her time. She was beautiful, an amazing wife and mother, but the best grandmother ever and a phenomenal cook. Everything always from scratch. I spent years with her, cooking in her kitchen. I watched everything she did and somehow it implanted into the depths of my memory. Everything from homemade beans, enchiladas, tortillas, and the most complete and delicious Thanksgiving dinners. When I got old enough to get a job, I worked for a few restaurants as a waitress, and being that I had my meals at work, I never did much cooking, if any. Besides, I was in college and usually ate in the cafeteria during the day, and at work at night. Fast forward to about 15 years ago, when I met my partner, and I started working in an office. One of the first weekends I went to visit him, I told him we should stay in and eat instead of going out and he was fine with it. I should have looked in his pantry before saying anything. Keep in mind, he had been single for a while, just bought his house, and was working away from home most of the time as a Paramedic. So, it should have not come as such a surprise to find almost nothing in his pantry.
In the "spice cabinet" some protein shake mix, vitamins, and salt and pepper. Freezer-bags of chicken breasts, Pantry- a few cans of vegetables, one jar of spaghetti sauce and a bag of egg noodles. Oh and a few scattered packets of parmesan cheese from the last pizza order. Oh-kay.. WT...do I do here? So I put the chicken to grill on his countertop "drain all of the flavor out of the chicken" grill, with some salt and pepper, boiled the borderline stale egg noodles and put the sauce in a pan. Not too much later it was all done and I put the plates on the table, and called him to eat. Sitting down he asked me when I went to the store. After telling him I did not, he said he didn't know how I made something out of what he had available. He was just as surprised as I was. To this day he says it was the best meal i ever made. Im sure that's not true but the memory made it that way. Needless to say, after that he was hooked.
But the takeaway from it was that I had no idea what a great cook I was. I actually had not done it since before high school. It really just came naturally to me. I had a great pallet and taste for flavors that meshed really well together. I would come up with these really random, meals out of whatever there was available. The best part was, that I really loved it. It was relaxing and my family really enjoyed it as well.
Fast forward fifteen years, about four months ago. I got really bad Covid. Like, misery of the worst kind. Never been sick like that ever. I am a very healthy and active person. Nothing takes me down. I work through my sicknesses and carry on. Not this time. I tried. Day two and I feel like crap, but even crappier because there was stuff I needed to do, and I didn't have time to get sick. So I get out of bed and put on my work boots and hat, determined to work this out.
"Where are you going" my partner asks
"I am going outside to work through this sickness"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Okay", he smiles and half laughs under his breath while shaking his head. "good luck"
Now, if I knew what he meant by good luck at that moment, I may have given it a second thought. But, I am stubborn and when I set my mind to something, its better if you just either leave me to it or get out of my way.
I flung the door open, walked down the three steps, and grabbed the rake. One minute later, I flung the door open again grasping the railing and my chest trying to pull myself up the stairs. I was gasping and spinning, wheezing and out of breath. Sweat burned my eyes and my legs felt weak. My head pounded and my joints felt as if they were bound by metal and going to dislocate at the same time.
"What happened?" He already knew the answer, he smiled.
"I...(wheeze)...wanted...(gasping) to...(is this COPD?)...never....(gasping)...mind." I face planted into my bed, arms at my side, kicking my boots off, well, one boot...I didnt have the energy to kick the other one off.
"Need some help?" My silence gave my answer as he gently removed my other boot and hat which sat awkwardly from being smashed into the bed.
That moment began four weeks of the worst, death wishing sickness ever. Two weeks of migraines, acid-like sore throats, joint pain, shortness of breath, loss of voice, hearing loss in one ear and sheer exhaustion. After two weeks, I had just enough energy to walk to my car, change my mind, and get back in bed. Three weeks i made it to my car drove to get take out and back into bed. By week four, I was still so tired but knew I had to get back to work because my partner ended up getting it too so we had both missed a month of work and our savings ran out. Week five i went back to work one day, and only made it four hours. week five, one full shift.
But not everything returned to normal. I don't know if this is the worst part, because it was pretty bad, but it is definitely the one thing that has taken the biggest toll on me. Around the end of week one, I lost my sense of smell and taste. Today, four months later, and still nothing. It is the single most...oh sh**....
Ok sorry for the interruption but I had put some soup on to boil before writing this and totally forgot about it. Normally I would smell it as it heated up but, like I was saying, I almost just burned a huge pot of homemade chicken soup. This sucks. Life without flavor is like life without flavor. I can't be a perfectionist of cooking when I can't taste it. My partner really tries being a taste tester for me. He's a good sport. I just hate when we are arguing and I'm cooking and I have to go into the room and be like...
"Can you please taste this for me?" half grumbling and mumbling through clenched teeth, head down, holding out the spoon. He just looks at me with this "oh you need me now?" look of sarcasm, and takes the spoon.
He says its good. I try to believe him. But is it to MY standard? I may never know. Hopefully one day, I will know again.
Thanks for listening!
Take Care!!
