If a cow ever got the chance...

My books arrived from Amazon.com today, which means I now have three or four South Indian cookbooks that I may never cook from... I just like having them around. It's nice to know that I could make a dosai myself if I really wanted to, although it would take like three days from start to finish, and I'd also have to make chutney and sambar and potato masala, and I do not cook quickly. I have not learned all those spiffy time-saving techniques like chopping the vegetables in advance, and the only piece of electric equipment in my kitchen (apart from the toaster) is a blender that likes to pretend it's a food processor... But I do know a surprising amount about South Indian cuisine.

Am getting a little worried about how isolated I am from my coworkers. In the last week, I don't think anyone has even spoken to me for a purpose that wasn't specifically work-related. I'm not exaggerating. (And yes, I do realize that I could make some sort of effort myself instead of eating lunch in my cubicle every day and avoiding eye contact at all costs, as though we were riding some sort of permanent subway together... but it seems kind of late to reach out now and I don't know how to do it in ways that aren't awkward and socially inept. I know I'm making excuses.) It's strange--somewhat unpleasant and horribly familiar. Like high school. I have not fully recovered from high school. High school was lunch hours (actually, 42 minutes) spent sitting in the bathroom stall because I had no one to eat with and was too embarrassed to eat by myself or with the burnout girls, one or two of whom vaguely tolerated me and made it clear that that was all. I did have one friend, but she had a different lunch schedule than me. High school was watching that same friend begin eating 300 calories a day and later try to kill herself with an overdose of her antidepressants, and knowing I couldn't do anything to help her. That was the worst thing ever, so far. Hey, I didn't even mention the fundamentalist Christian World History teacher who believed that the world was six thousand years old and that God had scattered dinosaur bones in the earth to trick us and distinguish the true believers. Or my assholic peers, who used to torment me on the bus--making fun of my fat, my lack of friends, and my weird unsuccessful attempts at the poufy-bang style--because it was an hourlong ride and there was nothing better to do.

Well, they're all bagging groceries now.

My friend gained back some of the 40 pounds she had lost, went off to college, and within a week met the love of her life, a very sweet computer nerd from Door County, Wisconsin, who is unconditionally devoted to her. She is now one-half of Mr. and Mrs. Oldfashionedmarriage, has a job she likes, and lives far away from the place where we went to high school. I think she is reasonably happy.

My own day-to-day life is a picnic ON THE FUCKING RIVIERA, WITH WINE AND STRAWBERRIES AND PLEASANTLY SCENTED CANDLES, in comparison to what it was in 1994. I forget that sometimes.

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