First, please thank Margalit for writing something that inspired me to have a thought more than 140 characters long.
(As a caveat, if you follow me on Twitter, you'll agree this has been a productive week. If you only read the blog, though, not so much.)
Anyway, Margalit described how internet trolls love to fact-check bloggers when they post conflicting information. The longer you've had an internet presence, the more this happens. Personally, my blog is fairly current and consistent since I took older stuff offline. What gets me, then, is when trolls use anecdotal evidence from my books and hold it up to my present-day life.
My books capture whatever thoughts and feelings I had at one particular moment and freezes them in time. For example, in Bitter, I talk about being heartsick over the money I wasted on a Prada bag and I vowed to never be foolish again. Which is completely true and I absolutely was.
Yet last year when I posted a photo of some silly shoes I bought, I got a shitload of angry email saying, "You haven't learned a thing" and, "Those are Ferragamo, so clearly you lie" and, "You're completely back to your old ways."
But here's the rub - there's an ocean of difference between spending a month's rent on a bag with no purpose other than to make me feel superior and buying a hundred dollar pair of sandals that I loved and could afford to celebrate making the NYT bestselling list a fourth week in a row.
The lesson in Bitter wasn't that no one should ever possess nice things. What I learned was that my stuff shouldn't own me. In Bitter, ergo in my life, I rethought my priorities and the new paradigm I created back then still dictates how I live. On that same note, in Such a Pretty Fat, I figured out how to be healthier, but that doesn't mean I can never, ever eat a cupcake. The overarching theme was on finding balance. I'm still working on it, with the knowledge that balance is a perpetual (and self-correcting) process.
For those who want to argue that I'd previously described how I hate to cook, you're right. I hated meal preparation. When forced to do so, I cooked loudly and angrily. But that was four or five years ago, long before I had the proper tools, skills, and motivation. So I'm not lying when I write about enjoying the process of cooking now; I'm evolving.
In an effort to be healthier - or at least to counterbalance the cupcakes - I've vastly reduced the amount of packaged and processed foods from our diet. I've recently been working almost exclusively with fresh ingredients and doing stuff like making my own sauces and dressings. Seriously? This clean-eating business works because our dinners have never tasted better. For example, last week I made:
Baked chicken with roasted fennel, parsnips, onions, and carrots
Whole-wheat Panko crusted pork chops with mashed redskin potatoes and spring mix salad
Cuban pork with black beans and grilled fresh pineapple (yes, the cats were pissed I used their friend)
Seared beef tenderloin sliced onto red leaf lettuce with goat cheese and tossed with a warm balsamic reduction
New York strip with asparagus risotto
(No, I don't have recipes. I kind of do everything to taste.)
Granted, I've recently evolved to the point of obsession. Which is why I hit six different grocery stores last week searching for the best ingredients without having to pay a fortune. (If Whole Foods honestly thinks I'm going to fork over $34/pound for beef tenderloin from cows with positive self esteem, they are delusional. I'm super pleased with the $8/pound self-loathing beef from the creepy grocery store down the street, thanks.)
I'll be honest - cooking's a lot more fun now that I can take the afternoon and do it at my leisure. (Being able to see the TV from my new kitchen helps a lot.) Plus, coming home to a nice dinner is a lovely way for Fletch to end a stressful day and that makes me happy. He's a particular fan of the very labor-intensive Risotto Night, which happens every Thursday. (Tell me how you can watch Hell's Kitchen and not want to make risotto.)
Would the the four-years-ago-me ever spend 45 minutes stirring a risotto? OH, HELL, NO. Then again, the four-years-ago me would just be walking in the door at 6:00 PM after a day of temping.
Point? Things perpetually change around here.
That's just the nature of the internet. And of real life.
But four months from now when I'm on deadline, knee-deep in empty Pringles tubes, and Twittering to Fletch to please, please make a Burger King run, promise me you'll keep this post in mind?