Push.

I'm slowly noticing more and more that I'm not the kind of person who does well when I don't have a lot of work to do.  Work as in the hours I put in to get the monies.  That sort of thing.  Although I've got the sleep part down.  Sleep I could do for eons, since I spend more time losing it than gaining it.  Ah...youth?  

So what is the appropriate reaction for a young workaholic like myself when there aren't enough hours to make the days fly by?  I cook.  A lot.  And listen to a ton of blues, bluegrass, and soul.  I daydream of what I could be writing about in my head but by the time it's ready to hit the page I've instantly forgotten.  I walk my friend's dog, I stare at stupid social networking sites like Facebook, Tumblr, and OkCupid (shush, don't judge).  For whatever reason my insane urges to establish human contact rev up to an all time high because when I am left to my own stillness it actually drives me quite mad.  I'm not sure what to do with all this....time.  And soon I'll be back to the patterns of having no time at all to do anything.

So why not try to fill it with more things?  Like...?

I keep talking about drawing more, sculpting more, working on putting together strings of animations to develop whatever craft I think I might have up my sleeve.  I have no idea what I would create, I just know the kinds of things I would like to create and like to see created.  Things that have a darker macabre sort of vibe, like a scene at an old carnival.  Or something lighthearted and whimsical, like a child riding a bicycle on a bridge of dreams, the speed of her pedaling determining how fast the piano notes fly while she rides through a city made of paper stacks held together by wishes and segmented yarn pieces.  Something.

I keep thinking about music.  Making it, breathing it, doing something that would allow me to dance the way I hear the world.

I felt the world through food today.  I made ravioli from scratch for the second time, and I think that it was necessary for me to do that.  Kneading dough is probably one of the more therapeutic things I've come across, especially with all that has happened recently.  When I finally get time to myself I am cooking.  And the more back to roots basics I can begin with it, the better I am.  This whole process takes about three and a half to four hours.  Who the hell can meditate on food for that long?  Apparently I can.

This time I made the dough like I saw it on this Italian website, where you just pour the flour onto the counter and make a hole in the middle to have it look like a volcano.  Then you put the two eggs in there, some olive oil and some water (or milk if you're stuffing the pasta) and then you just have this gooey mess until your hands mould it and create this dough.  And you keep working into it, and pushing your palms into the dough, pushing so hard you launch yourself off the floor and almost over the whole counter itself.  (though I'm quite tiny, so maybe it's just me)  You take it in your hands and squeeze and turn, and fold it over itself again and again until there is some elasticity to the dough.  Let it sit..and then go to other things.  I'm old school (and probably a little stubborn) so I use the good ol' knife and cutting board to mince and dice my ingredients.

Alcohol is a good companion when losing yourself in these culinary intimacies, but I've also found that hooka works just as well.  It's soothing in a weird way.  I'm sure my lungs will tell me to fuck off later down the road.

Now there are all these crazy leftovers for me to do with as I please.  Dough, garlic, ravioli stuffing, pasta sauce...I could make a lot of different things.  And that makes me happy, that I can spend my time without anyone else around.  Just tinkering away, creating as I understand how things are to be created (and then putting my own spin on it), and having nothing but my two hands working ceaselessly.  While I make the food it's hard to not have my mind drift to inviting a ton of people over and feeding all of them and having a great time filling the living room with smiles, snuggles and laughter.  It's hard to not want to throw spontaneous food parties and have us dance the night away stumbling with our half empty bottles of wine clutched in our hands.

I think it would be wonderful to just lean into another human body, smiling and breathing full bodied flavors of home cooked meals and cabernet into their shirt collars, ties, jackets, dresses or neck.  Dance the evening away like you never meant it for anything else, and love with everything you own and kiss like it is the very sustenance to move your heart for just a few more beats.

Live with passion, I suppose.  I think that's what I want to do.  Live with passion.  I certainly dream with it.  Why not bring it into reality?