Dear diary,
How are you, old friend? Oh wait,never mind. That's a trap. If l ask how you are, I might have to answer how l am, and that's a dark hallway I am not walking down tonight. Not without a flashlight, a therapist, and perhaps a sedative.
Today I woke up at 4:00 pm because I slept at at 8:00 am anyway that’s not the problem I will improve my sleep.
I started to cook lunch at 8:30 pm.Do not ask me why but initially in the afternoon I lost my appetite and I was so nervous about the deadlines I am going to face. I was so stressed out so I would snack on something sweet whenever I had the chance but I realized that was not going to sustain me through the day and I could not get through with the hunger bangs especially when I have deadlines to meet. And when my mom video called me she told me what is wrong with you today ? (She was genuinely concerned not making fun of me ) Because I barely talked to her and I would zone out and stare at anything random in my bedroom. Anyway one of the worst things that happened today is I prepped a marinade for the chicken shawarma something to eat for tomorrow (it is a recipe I saw online , Lies. All lies). I lovingly spooned turmeric into the mix and as I was sealing the spice bag it exploded like a a bag of glitter. Poof.
I looked like I had murdered a sunflower.
Turmeric on my hands. Under my fingernails. My pajama pants? Yellow. My slippers? Yellow. My soul?
Tinted with regret.
Today’s adventure in adulting has once again proven that I am not, in fact, the next Gordon Ramsay. Unless. he’s been hit in the head and forgot how to season things or use an oven properly.
Let me set the scene: I was trying to be responsible. A well-rounded meal! Chicken breast, potatoes, green beans. Balanced, nutritious, borderline domestic vibes. I threw them in the oven with the confidence of someone who believes they know what they’re doing. Spoiler alert: I did not.
Now, here’s where fate twisted the knife — nothing burnt. I repeat: NOT. A. SINGLE. THING. BURNT.Which sounds like a win, right? WRONG. Because what I actually pulled out of the oven was a collection of lukewarm lies. The potatoes were half-cooked (extra crunchy, love that for my teeth). The green beans? SOUR. I cooked them YESTERDAY. What biochemical betrayal is this?
And the chicken breast — oh, the chicken breast. It had this weird aftertaste. It wasn’t old, it wasn’t expired, but it tasted like existential dread.
The only thing standing between me and a full mental breakdown was the tahini sauce. My beautiful, creamy, garlic-infused lifeline. Also made yesterday, because who in their right mind cooks every day? Not me. Not now. Not ever.
I was on the verge of tears. But I powered through. Because I have to study. And because there’s no room in my schedule for both a meltdown and undercooked starches.
Pray for my oven. Or maybe just send takeout.
Yours in culinary crisis,