Sunday, September 29, 2013

Flying Monkeys and Fried Green Tomatoes

It's Sunday morning, and there's a cool, steady rain falling.  I know it's steady, hearing the thunderous sound of the water gushing from the wrong end of the roof gutter.  It needs cleaning.  I don't have a ladder tall enough to reach.   I could buy a ladder from Lowes, true, but how would I bring it home?  Simple facts of my life. The rain sounds lovely, though. :)

I'm sitting on my very-much-tidier carport eating today's breakfast, which is a bowl of shrimp flavor Ramen noodle soup.  Really cheap and bad for me, but I've become a bit obsessed with them lately.  I'm going to make a big batch of juice later and do another juice fast.  I'm craving pineapple. And carrots. Okay, apple and lemon too.  

I canned another batch of salsa this week because the pretty tomatoes seem to pretty much be done for the season.  They're all looking rather pathetic, but because there's still a good flush of green tomatoes on the younger plants, I had fried green tomatoes for supper Friday.  Tangy, crispy, Mmm!  I think that southerners like fried dill pickles only because they're the pale flavor shadow of fried green tomatoes.  

I've found that slicing them thickly (about half-inch slices) keeps them together while cooking and firm enough to cut with a fork.  Pat them firmly into cornmeal with maybe a little bit of flour, until you can't see the wet green insides, and fry them in a pan of hot oil until lightly browned on each side.  Drain on paper towels.  Salt and pepper to taste before serving.  I don't season my cornmeal because I want to taste my food before I accidentally oversalt it.  I eat them for the taste of the tomatoes, not salt.  Plain and simple.

(And yes, I'm drinking a lot of water right at this very moment to mitigate the sodium in the ramen.  Yes.  I know.  Leave me alone about that.  Blame it on a particularly difficult round of depression this week. )

I had to make them. I'd had some a few days earlier at my sister's and couldn't stop thinking about how good they were.  Mine were better.  Lol. (Okay, mine were simply thicker.)

Why am I depressed?  Well, at first it just arrived like a phantom, with no apparent reason.  Now I can admit that it's a whole bundle of things that nobody wants to talk about.  I've been grounded from running for the last week because of another hip cortisone shot.  Had to give it time to work.  I'm sure the lack of exercise hurt my chemical levels.  

I'm lonely.  And I'm getting really resentful of all the cliches carelessly tossed my way: there's someone for everyone, God has someone for you, you're too picky, you don't get out enough to meet anyone. Well, if God had someone planned for me, I'm sure He could arrange a meeting without me having to barhop and become a drunk.im out enough to run into all sorts of possible non-jerks.

I'm under a lot of pressure at work because of the new evaluation system and because I'm teaching a new subject this year.  I've had good help in planning and preparation, but nothing compares to already having that experience of teaching the lesson once before to see how it will go and to figure out how you will do things completely differently next time.  *sigh* I don't like feeling ignorant.  I don't like making mistakes.  I don't like feeling unprepared.  I don't like knowing my job and license depend on students I never have in class doing well on tests in subjects I don't even have the chance to teach. I feel destined to fail. 

I don't especially like that someone who should be closer to me enjoys calling me the Wicked Witch of the West.  She thinks of herself as Glinda.  Well, yesterday she unleashed a whole flock of flying monkeys on me in the front yard because she "had a bad day".  I was trying to tell her something.  She interrupted me and cut me off. (Understand that this is her usual way: she gets to say what she wants, everyone must listen, and she must not ever listen to others.)

I mildly called her on her rudeness.  Then she started screaming and cursing me out in front of all the neighbors who were outside to see and hear her tirade.  I told her she had no reason to be rude to me, nor to take out her bad day on me entirely.  More screaming and cursing.  Turns out she just had a very busy day at work and didn't get a break for a long time.  (On top of the late night of social activities she indulged in the night before, of course.)  What she described sounded like a typical morning in my 6th grade class.  Self-realization would kill her, if it ever crossed her mind.  God forbid if I should ever truly enlighten her as to what the rest of us have to go through.

If she had any clue how badly she hurts me every time she takes everything out on me, takes and never gives, and has people fawning over her to boot, would she try to be kind?  It takes me such a long time to get over her horrible treatment of me, because I never truly forget the previous times, though she has no problem forgetting when it suits her.  I have scars that remind me.  I never hit her back.  And somehow I'm the one everybody hates.  It's always been this way.  Black and white, if you kiss the ground she walks on, it requires that you despise me.  

I wasn't having a good day to begin with.  The ignition in my mower broke and I couldn't mow my already too-high grass.  A dirty piece of metal cut my leg literally from ankle to knee while I was cleaning the carport - my replacement home-blessing activity since mowing fell through. 

 
I know, it doesn't look like a runner's leg from this angle.  My thighs still make me unhappy and my leg was dirty from cleaning outside.

Let's not forget that there was a Wicked Witch of the East, complete with a house dropped on her, that inappropriate outfit, and a lifetime of coddling that her green sister never got.  So if anyone is going to unfairly accuse me of being West, guess who is East?  Nessarose.  You've gotta be sweet to be Glinda.

Still sitting outside, barefoot, though the day is cool. Listening to the rain watering my tomatoes, so that I can have bigger green ones to fry.  





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