Back in Vegas and back to ~health. Some food for thought:
- Leaving town does not necessitate "vacation," regardless of the destination. I’ve been flying to Honolulu at least once or twice a year since I was a baby because that’s where my parents are from and nearly all my relatives live, and only once have I considered the trip a "vacation."
- I don’t travel well with other people. The whole point of traveling, in my opinion, is to get away from everything familiar and everyday. Including people. The two occasional exceptions are my mother and my boyfriend.
- Getting inexplicably and inconsolably ill in the middle of the night preceding the day you are supposed to return to work, after having been gone for a week due to being out of town (a trip which caused far, far more stress than could have been predicted), sucks more than I can begin to describe. So I’m not going to bother.
Have been cohabitating at The Guy’s house for the last couple of days. He gave me full reign over his kitchen, meaning I got to designate cabinets and shelves (cups and glasses to the right of the sink, dishes to the left, etc.) and stock the place with cooking and baking essentials. This may seem like an unwelcome chore to some, such as The Guy, but to me, it’s a pleasure beyond compare. Being my mother’s daughter, my world at home, wherever that may be, is centered in the kitchen, and now that The Guy set up a wireless network in his house for me, I truly can stay in that kitchen for hours on end with nary a care or need for anything else.
After our return to Vegas, I cooked the First Meal, a big event for me which turned out something of a flop because I was too impatient with the rice and it came out slightly, slightly undercooked. But the curry was okay. Sunday was comprised of special French toast and fruits, and chicken noodle soup and spiced oatmeal raisin cookies– so in short, I’ve thoroughly tested the utilities of his kitchen and my conclusion is this: yes. Yes, it’s a good kitchen; yes, there is enough counter space; yes, the sink is adequately situated; yes, the oven works well; yes, the stove works well; yes, I am liking the fact that the water from the faucet can go from cold to hot in four seconds tops.
I haven’t, for a number of reasons, valid or not, cooked for The Guy (or for anyone, for that matter) in well over a month. Maybe well over two months. Getting back into the kitchen, getting back into the exhilaration of scouting out new and different recipes and testing them, and simultaneously testing my domestic skills, on The Guy, has rekindled a flame that was near about dead. Throw in the indisputable fact that I have an addictive personality, and Crisis arises.