I'm going to try to update this blog more often. I've been needing an outlet lately for all the stress and consuming thoughts in my life. I used to find joy in blogging; knowing that I was sending my insignificant hopes and dreams out into the massive web of whatever the web is made of brought me a sense of hope and companionship. It was like having someone to talk at who wouldn't try to offer me advice when I didn't want it. Sometimes a girl just likes to vent.
So what is there to vent about today?
I'm hungry, and all I have is pasta. I am sick of pasta. I grew up eating pasta several days a week. I'm now in college and pasta is one of the only things I can afford. Changing the sauce doesn't help. It really doesn't. Under the clever disguise of tomato, butter and garlic, or alfredo is still the same pasta. Chewy (or disgustingly soggy if overcooked), flesh-colored, bowtie or elbow shaped pasta. Pasta also takes other forms to mask itself, like those salty Ramen noodles you get for 14 cents at the grocery store. Or Lo Mein...totally pasta.
Every time I eat it in its various forms, I get sleepy. I get loaded with carbs and feel like sleeping until I die, or at least until my landlord evicts me for not paying rent due to my prolonged slumber. My entire plans for the day get ruined because I'm so tired. I have to cancel everything. Don't mock me, I'm totally busy. You don't even know.
And its not just that I'm tired of pasta. I'm Italian...its like I'm expected to eat pasta every day of my life. Can you imagine that pressure? Any time someone hears I'm Italian, they're probably assuming I make amazing pasta. Its true, I make great pasta, but can't I be associated with something else? I'm half English-Irish, you know. Can't I make great potatoes, too? Or tea? Or crumpets or whatever those crumbly-buiscuity things are?
I'm hungry, so I'm going to go rummage through my cabinets for something edible, but its hopeless. In the end, all I'll find that's suitable is pasta...with Vodka sauce.