I’ve perfected the art of the grilled cheese sandwich. This might not sound very impressive, but I assure you, it’s a feat nonetheless. I’ve experimented with four types of bread, six kinds of cheese, varying butter/margarine combos, and three different pans in my kitchen. I’ve also figured out the perfect mustard to honey ratio to whip up a great little dipping sauce. This is my comfort food, warm gooey goodness enveloped in buttery, flakey crust.
When I’m lonely or sad or just a little blue, I’ve found that reverting to childhood comforts is the best way to perk up. When I was a kid, there was nothing a good book couldn’t cure. Lose yourself in someone else’s world for an hour or two and you’ll forget your own problems in no time. It’s a little harder now, but at least reading is a constructive time waster. At least I’m not drinking my sorrows away.
I feel so much pressure to fill my free time with a hundred thousand activities like the rest of the people in this city. Trivia! Spin class! Happy hour! Yoga! It’s like I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts for a single second, so I plan my days down to the last minute.
But when life is life and plans get cancelled, I come unmoored. I’m distraction-less. My roommate walks in to find me weeping over a sandwich in the kitchen.
