These posts have very little to do with food, lately.

Although I begin to think it is all connected - not just the childhood bits about food = love, but also the bits about how you treat yourself and work out your frustrations, and placate your id. Nothing the id likes better than an entire Sara Lee Strawberry French Cheesecake! (And before you tell me how many calories/fat/etc were in that, at least I ate it over 3 days and had craved it for a month. It was my self-reward for writing the best paper in my Marketing class and doing the best presentation. Yaay, me!)

I am pondering weighty issues these days, related to character and discipline and purpose. Heavy, yes. I was inspired by Bubba and my trip to Washington, DC. When you think about it, the founding fathers (and mothers) were people so convinced of the truth of their actions and the rightness thereof that they literally risked life and limb for it. Think about it: if America had lost the Revolutionary War, they'd all have been drawn and quartered, and we'd be drinking tea not from bags. There's nothing these days with such impact in our manicured lives, unless one is a soldier in Iraq or Afghanistan trying not to get blown up - that's visceral, for sure, and I remain unconvinced the the majority of soldiers are fighting for much more than a paycheck. (The American Military as Hired Mercenaries - now, that's an idea. And not a good one.)

Anyway, I left Washington and Philadelphia, Monticello and Mount Vernon, with a sense of the immediacy of their individual lives. It is one thing to read and study the early history of the United States. It is another to walk in Philadelphia, to sit in the early Senate chamber or stand in the room where the Declaration and Constitution were signed, and then go to the National Archives and see the documents preserved carefully under temperature, humidity and light controlled glass, yellowed and ancient and yet surviving for all these hundreds of years just like the country they created. It is another thing to see George Washington's bedroom, to look at the mountains that Thomas Jefferson saw from his study, to walk the streets that Benjamin Franklin traveled and see how he worked. These were real people, just like me, but inspired by a greater sense of need and purpose than I wonder if I will ever have, and bound to take actions that changed the world.

I don't expect to change the world, but I would like to make a difference in something, no matter how much I tell myself that raising respectful, independent, productive and self-sufficient children contributes to the world. I would like to live with a purpose, rather than wandering aimlessly from event to event and trying to make each make sense. Funny, huh? I have everything I ever wanted, and I search for meaning.

Basically, Washington left me introspective and somewhat sheepish and ashamed, as if I am wasting my life and my individual gifts.

And so, I have unconsciously cultivated an ennui at work and at home - probably have not been much fun to live with, and I know for certain I have not been fun to work with. Work is grossly unsatisfying, except on the days when other folks are out of town and I have to back them up. Then, I work so hard and so ferociously that I know I have contributed. Otherwise, it's making sure the Georgia Power bill gets paid on time, and keeping the substance abuse center's balance. Meaningless, if necessary. But necessity does not give one a sense of purpose, only of usefulness. I feel. . . lost. Angry. Motionless and trapped. Held back. When I want to do something different at the office, I don't get to do it - it's like I get pooh-poohed. The self-important side of me says that my two supervisors are threatened by me and so they dont' want me out of my box, to protect their own jobs. The more modest and insecure side of me says that every mistake I've made has caused our Ultimate Boss to label me as incompetent and tell the others to keep me out of anything important. I don't know the truth of anything, but it all makes me mad and I am forcing myself now to stay in this job for the next three years (when grad school should be over) because the salary and benefits and hours are decent. But I'm going nowhere, and I feel like I am wasting my time, and I feel even worse because I'm sure it shows - my thought bubbles are just too easy to read.

And then I had the experience with the marketing class, which was very ego-boosting and rewarding. And I wonder, what in the world does it mean when strangers are impressed at your abilities, but the people who know you on a daily basis think you're an incompetent boob? I'm told my bouncy friendly nature causes people to think I'm a dingbat - but does one change ones nature to appear more serious? Or just roll with it?

Blah. This stuff's too heavy! Makes me want to eat some Pork Fried Rice.

(On the food side - I had something really delicious for lunch! We went Mexican and Bubba doesn't really care for Mexican, so I had a shrimp quesadilla and rice, and he had Chicken Soup. He wanted my shrimp, so I had the soup, and it was awesome! A hyooge bowl of chicken stock, really flavorful with cilantro and a hint of heat, crammed with shredded chicken, pico de gallo (and hot enough that it cooked the tomatoes and onions nicely) and rice, with avocadoes sliced in for pretty. It was good enough and huge enough that I couldn't finish it with the dinky little soup spoon they gave me, but I just couldn't bring myself to pick up the bowl and drink straight from it. I wanted to. Yum!)

Sad - I am hearing K explain to the babysitter's brother - who is 3 1/2 years older than her and homeschooled - what "mingle" means and how to spell "Nick." Here's to homeschooling! He is her first crush and I think he likes her, too, because he plays with her as much as he plays with Noah. Young love. . .