new worksketch today:

PASTA SALAD OF DOOM

i haven't updated in way WAY too long, and probably shouldn't be updating now (what with being at work and all). but sometimes, i admit, i miss being a little more long winded than twitter allows.

slightly seething about getting (what i consider to be a horribly unjust) B- on a medieval poetry paper i wrote recently, and feeling a bit wobbly, which i think has to do with last night's desperation pasta salad from the only coffee shop that was open at 11pm that didn't require me to go wandering out too far into the cold. last night was fun. at quarter to ten i found out that i wouldn't be going home because the weather was lousy, and had to check into the comfort inn. where i got a grand total of no sleep, at least not until after my 7:30 alarm clock went off. the bed's are always too squishy and the temperature is never quite right, and i didn't have my usual snuggly pillows and i was terribly worried about peob, all by himself at home. he was especially glad to see me safe and sound when i got in - albeit briefly - this afternoon.

every muscle and joint in my body hurts. i dislike exams. i only like being this sore as a result of, you know, fun activities, like hiking, or sex.

back by popular demand

HAM

embrace the ham. it loves you. buy prints! HAM!

this is the tale of someone perpetually misunderstood, a case perhaps for the school of thought which believes that all our personal idiolects are sufficiently different that true communication - the possibility of ever really understanding one another - is impossible. i expect that you may have imagined that i would feel jealous of your girlfriend, but what i am really jealous of is your job. lovers are fun, but friends, proper friends, are transcendent. what good is sex if there's nothing to talk about before and after? we sat together and talked about everything. it was late and very blurry. a hug, an arm across my body, lingering a little longer than was proper: a shiver, a frisson, an inaudible gasp. we separated ourselves, smiled, and bid each other good night. anything else would have been strange, forced, and unnecessary. i don't need to love everyone to love the world. how can we conceive of things for which we have no words? i would politely ask that you cease to insinuate yourself into my thoughts, for your presence there forces me to proclaim that i don't care about you anymore, and having to say that i don't care means that i do. sometimes i wish i did not love her, because you do. it would be easier if i did not. i am a selfish person because i am a person. what i do, be it self-serving or apparently altruistic, is always directly or indirectly done for my own benefit. anyone who claims otherwise is either deluded or lying. i want so much for you to have that future: that house, those kids, those dogs, that wife. i thought it might have been me. do you remember the time i drank a bottle of prosecco and took polaroids? i loved you so much. i still do. i smell something, just now - someone else, or perhaps something i am wearing - that smells just like you. like fresh laundry, cigarettes, and bergamot. it comforts me because it is you. beyond the spark, beyond ignition, there is comfort or there is nothing. it is boring, it has no grand and exciting visions of the future (my visions inevitably betray me), and it is perfect, and all i have ever wanted without ever knowing it. how many times did you ask my name? a fuzz of grain alcohol sublimated from your pores, though i did not notice until the end of the morning, as we tried to draw ourselves - failing several times - out of bed and back to the subway station. you told me i was beautiful and i knew then that you were drunk. the boarding call sounded and the people began to queue up for the flight. i told you how much i would miss you and you would not kiss me with all those people there. you whispered to me in confidence that you would drive out to the fringes of the city centre, and meet me there. when you did not come, i wished that you had said nothing in the first place. you have no way of knowing what i do not tell you. the blame i place on you for the things i feel and have felt is really my own. you could not know. i wish sometimes we could eat someplace less dangerous to me. these fried things and this abundance of potatoes and that condescending soy burger start to grate on my digestive system, leaving me feeling unsatisfied, and sometimes physically ill. it rained the one day we walked into the university together. you held a pink umbrella above us and i held your arm. you told me not to fall in love with you but you knew i already had. we had to put a little distance between ourselves before we got too close to the building, lest anyone see the two of us in a compromising position. i still haven't met your parents, and i suppose there's a good chance that i never will. i wonder if i'm a kind of woman one feels ashamed of being attracted to or affiliated with. i'm sorry i told you that i had a boyfriend before i did, and that i moved to england when i was actually only visiting for a few weeks. i was so engrossed in talking to you about so many things that i did not even notice the vast distance we had crossed until we reached the very bottom of the hill, and the building we had come from was but a tiny speck that sat at the very top. i wonder if you are eating. i wonder if you are drinking. sometimes i still close my eyes and see what you would have looked like: so small and so perfect, so ordinary, but mine. little hands and face, sleeping. always sleeping. i doubt i will ever reach a point of acceptance, but i continue to exist, perhaps out of fear of nothing. the train was boarding and i had to get on and i was trying so hard not to cry, but i cried anyway and you hugged me and i think you thought i was very silly, but you hugged me anyway and kissed my cheek and my heart was flooded with radiant joy and sorrow.

what we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence.

hey, interwebs.

coupla thoughts today, namely:

1. updating sami kelsh the epic website you should all visit, for one thing. some pretentious writing about art there, among other things.

2. indeed, i'm conflicted again about the art thing. it seems like a lot of people don't see, or don't see much, or choose not to see, when art about and featuring females is concerned. there's a lot out there to make me uncomfortable. there's a photograph that a colleague of mine took recently that was incredibly disturbing, but what was more disturbing was that the majority of people who commented on it publicly couldn't apparently see past the fact that it was a photo of a naked chick to see that it was a photo of a naked chick laying face down and apparently or possibly dead or unconscious on a carpet next to a piece of furniture. yeah, real sexy guys. creeped me the fuck out, that. i get that a lot and all. "oh, you look so hot!" in response to a picture where i'm naked and crying. really? are you sick, or just stupid?

3. i sure love falafel.

4. oh and buy some of this kickass new knitted stuff i've been knitting

so tonight, in spite of being stricken with a hideously awful cold, i decided to make lasagne. and it's gosh darn delicious. motherflippin' EPIC.



serves, i dunno, lots. be advised that you will likely have leftover sauce, but never fear as it works beautifully as a regular pasta sauce or served over nice white fish.

6 lasagne noodles
a couple glugs of oil
1/2 small onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 green bell pepper, roughly chopped
1 red bell pepper or 2 red shepherd peppers, roughly chopped
2 large tomatoes, roughly chopped
a generous slosh of tinned crushed tomato
a small handful of fresh basil, chiffonade
a generous sprinkle of oregano
1 medium carrot, grated
1 small chile, seeded and chopped
1 egg
1 cup ricotta
a good handful of chopped spinach from one of those frozen blocks, thawed
1/2 pound of mozzarella, shredded
salt and pepper to taste

heat oil over medium heat in a large saucepan. add onion and garlic and fry for a minute, then add peppers, tomato, and chile. simmer until peppers have softened and tomatoes have begun to disintegrate. add crushed tomato, basil, oregano, carrot, salt, and pepper, and continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until a nice thick and chunky sauce forms.

meanwhile, cook lasagne noodles until al dente in boiling salted water. drain and set aside.

beat egg until frothy, then beat in ricotta, then spinach, salt, and pepper. set aside.

preheat oven to 350°. in a 9"x9" (give or take) ovenproof dish, spread a thin layer of sauce. cover with a layer of noodles, trimming excess if necessary. spread noodles with a layer of spinach and ricotta mixture, followed by a layer of tomato sauce, and a sprinkling of mozzarella. cover with another layer of noodles, then ricotta, then tomato sauce, then mozzarella. bake, uncovered, for 30 minutes. (it is wise to place a piece of tinfoil under your pan, as some sauce may bubble over, and that's a real pain to clean out of the oven later if it drips onto the oven floor.) cover with foil and bake for a further 10 minutes. remove from oven and let stand for 5-10 minutes before serving, if you can restrain yourself from voraciously tucking in.

nightmares were gone for a time, now returned. it's hard to quiet the mind. the yogis, you know them, the ones who make it seem so effortless, i think they're having a laugh.

hands are busy, knitting new things for the shoppe (i haven't forgotten, but my studio is awfully full and i was away for a while). turns out england kind of seeps into your bones and stays there, like a memory in the body as well as the mind. i am drawn by forces more powerful than myself to return, not that i'd choose to resist. but can i return? i will, at least to visit.

in the meantime, pictures beginning to appear here. feel free to investigate. more pictures forthcoming. prints available.

i'm thinking of doing a bakewell tart, or possibly a peach pudding, with the fresh peaches we've got at the moment. perhaps even apricot pudding. trouble is of course that i'm trying to cut down on my grain consumption again, as these things don't sit well with me. this clashes just a little with the idea of sponge pudding and shortcrust pastry, admittedly. recipes forthcoming if my willpower breaks down and i start baking.