My mind feels a little numb from the incessant drumming of rain. When I woke this morning and heard the dull thud of water on the roof, I jumped out of bed and ran barefoot onto my balcony, dragging my soaked plants under the eaves. I think they'll survive. But I worry it's only a matter of time before the growing puddle outside creeps through the cracks of the glass door, into my living room, and onto my feet. Splash, splash.
Occasionally, I like to skip the mirepoix and layered stews and eat vegetables straight up. Some garlic and oil, maybe some liquid. Tonight, I tossed some organic carrots in a pan with garlic and a splash of beef stock (did you know organic carrots leave a trail of fluorescent yellow orange?). My leftover asparagus got rolled around in olive oil and kosher salt, then stuck in the oven at 500 degrees Fahrenheit for ten minutes.
I find myself loath to make complicated meals these days. Maybe it's the weather, maybe it's all that's going on outside my calm apartment. I won't waste lines on platitudes, or myopic prose about how a tragic disaster done to others makes me more grateful for flowers and tea. I'm just struck by how my perception of events feels more and more skewed as I click through endless photos and spinoff articles. Reality feels ephemeral; it's difficult to know how to respond. You can insert your literary reference of choice here.