Defibrillation, Dry Winds, and Insanity

Giving this blog a post is like giving it a defibrillator, the machine that makes your heart pump back to life when it’s dying.  It’s a machine crackling with electricity, like the dry winds outside my house that make me twitch after I hear a snap! as I reached for some door handles and feel Mother Nature pinch me in her oh-so-clover way.

I am already in my second week of Winter Quarter of my Sophomore year, and the workload is surprisingly heavy, fast, and hard.  As an English major, I had a vague inkling of what it meant when I read that the job required lots of reading.  Now I know what it means, as I must read like I have never before: hundreds of pages every day, three different books at one time, all while thinking critically.  Play is put on hold for work, which sometimes becomes the former if the reading is at once enlightening and entertaining.

But within these early struggles, I have made progress within my life.  I’ve learned the ease and satisfaction of baking chicken on a sheet in and oven, as well as the simple joy of eating a chicken quesadilla I prepared for lunch the morning of.  I was inspired to learn how to make it after ordering one at a food court on campus.  All I had to do was watch the man make it: tortilla, cheese, chicken, tortilla.  Maybe a little oil, but I don’t have any.  And I learned I didn’t have to.  My nonstick pan worked fine with it.  Like an omelet without the folding.

Slowly, I’m learning to cook, and it’s becoming a magical experience.  I could help but grin when I tried to make a quesadilla with guacamole inside it, and while I had made and used more guacamole that was planned, to feel the familiar flavor welcome me, and to know that I had arranged it so carefully in the form of a meal with a salad sent me tingling with delight.

And that is how, I suppose, I should think of my life so far: in baby steps.  In little chunks.  Like how I divide my reading assignments to so I have to do a little every day and not have to go insane.  Which then makes me wonder…

Is it good that I might make myself insane, if I chant, “Baby steps, baby steps, baby steps…”?

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