15 February 2007

Far Cry

Today is a far cry from two days ago.

Two days ago, I had an office, a name plate and a corporate account. I owned more stress than I could account for, anger of volcanic proportions and an unfortunate tendency to moan in misery.

I could be singing "Better Now," but I'm not there yet. I have wandered the house today, trying to figure out what to do. Don't mistake this for having nothing to do. I have lots to do. I just can't figure out how to do it, since I'm not moving at warp speed. I don't have a corporate email account to check. Nothing to edit. No reason to tear out what remains of my hair. The phone rang this morning, but I stood stalwart, and did not answer it.

Although I've often used the term "Stockholm Syndrome" in jest to answer the question of why I stayed for two years, I think there is something to that idea. I read somewhere (or made it up off the top of my head--anything is possible at this point) that people who've been held in capitivity for awhile find it difficult to reassimilate, to venture beyond small confined places. I had the novel notion this morning that I could go somewhere for lunch today if I wanted to. But I have yet to convince myself that this is actually possible. Or even safe.

The Perfect Quesadilla

American cheese
Flour tortilla
Arizona Gunslinger Smokin' Hot Chipotle Habanero Pepper Sauce

Put cheese on tortilla. Nuke for 30 seconds. Douse with hot sauce. Eat slowly. Feel the burn.

(There is an even more perfect version--and this being Southern California--even more perfect is the desirable option: Add some raw onion before nuking.)

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