Treading and Geraniums

When my upstairs roomie came back from work today, I greeted her with a big smile and threw my arms out. "I AM MAKING US DINNER," I announced.

She gave me a worried look.

"What?" I asked her, my smile falling. "Seriously, it'll be good. And it'll use up some of the stuff from the freezer so we don't have to move it next month. I called my mom and she gave me a recipe suggestion."

Her face didn't change at all.

Ultimately, I screwed up the baked potatoes. I forgot to poke them, and they were still a little hard in the middle. I had to reheat mine in the microwave. The chicken was kind of dry (though I encounter this problem whenever I heat up/bake chicken), but the salsa and seasonings tasted all right. My roomie didn't say anything about how she felt about the meal, only answering with an indifferent "fine" when I asked her how the chicken was.

I came out of the experience knowing that my roomie thought my cooking skills were appalling.* But I suppose it doesn't matter that much.

I leave the Tiny Blue Room in a month and a half. The room after the Tiny Blue Room will likely be the same size or even smaller. I don't trust my memory of how big the room really is. It will be, after all, a mere corner of the apartment I'm moving into with my roommate. There is much I have yet to pare down, and it's already halfway through June.

Another of my roomies, Amanda, brought me back a geranium from her work a few weeks ago. She works in a flower shop and has been bringing back ferns, flower arrangements, and just today, a Venus fly trap, for us to enjoy and care for. I was excited about the geranium. I've been trying not to over-water it and pulling off the browning leaves every few days. When we move, I want to put it just outside our door so it can enjoy the fresh air. 

Life after something so ingrained is almost bizarre. Everything seems so much more domestic, much more alien to the senses. The plants need to be watered. Walking the dog doesn't have to be a chore. Cooking is suddenly something that can actually be done, most of the time, but mostly it seems nearly impossible. Time between, before, and after work shifts must be used wisely. Evenings have become open. What is this strange stasis I've found myself in?

The crazy thing is that it's not really a stasis at all. It's more transitionary. I'm trying to adjust myself to the schedule of a graduate. A lot of my college friends have moved: Crystal is in Indiana, Whitney and Abbey in Illinois, others have or soon will be returning to their respective hometowns or new homes in far off places. I've just started the job search and will soon be diving into the grad school application process. Time seems to work differently, now. Things don't work per semester in the real world. I wonder if it's more by season, or perhaps the days meld together in one big clump and the only way to know the date is by the weather when you leave for your lunch break.

I know I'll be glad to get back into the learning mode whenever I start grad school. But for now, I'll enjoy writing, drawing, and adjusting to this new life. Especially evenings like tonight, in which Amanda suggests making pina coladas and indulging in both chips and salsa and mint chocolate chip ice cream. Which, of course, is a delicious combination.



*With that being said, another of my roomies tried the chicken and liked it. When I make the recipe again, I'll know what to do and what not to do.