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Tonight I found myself in a right tiff about cooking dinner - something I'm hardly in, as cooking is my go-to form of self-meditation. I incorporate different herbs and spices dependent on my mood, whether in forms of nostalgia from Mother or Nanna if my moods are saudade and longing, or perhaps to stimulate an emotion I feel needs an extra push to come to alive - a bit like music, I suppose. However, such cases were not achieved.

Drawers and cupboards slammed, pots and utensils pushed about unnecessarily, I felt this burning desire to do something extreme. I try not to put too much focus on my emotions, for I tend to push them aside and analyse them like Eustace Scrubb might with his bugs and insects, like a detachment, I suppose, to avoid reacting passive-aggressively, or maybe aggressively if it came to it.


(Eustace Scrubb - Chronicles of Narnia - ISTJ)

I decided to put together a roast chicken, with potatoes and carrots and broad beans and a gravy/jus. It felt an ideal dinner for what I originally felt, which was homely and Wind-and-the-Willow-esque; moreover, one of my flatmates invited a guest whom she asked me to cook for. When I went to prepare, however, the kitchen was a mess, the roasting trays hadn't been cleaned since whoever last used them, and nothing went smoothly. My anxieties, as pathetic as they are, prevent me from speaking up about it.

The kitchen had to be cleaned for me to cook dinner, so all my timing was off schedule, my mood gradually losing its homely feel, and I no longer wanted to cook anything at all when I finally finished cleaning. This needed to be done, for the chicken needed to be used tonight, which was all very well with a walnut/sultana/onion stuffing roasting beautifully, but when I sought my new Agria potatoes, I couldn't find them. After much labour in rummaging through logical locations, my flatmate had stored them out in the sun-room "out of the way", she said -- needless to say, the potatoes were rotten through and through from heat and light, and I felt my heart weep. I wanted to get angry and tell her off, but she was too in awe with her boyfriend to care, that I bit my lip and slammed the sliding door shut.

The anger I had had been repressed over many weeks, which I find to be a sweet sorrow - a strength, perhaps, to last so long, but a weakness to find no form of release. The inner tension made me feel guilty upon the anger, and that reluctance to let it show only enhanced that tension for the worse. I ignored all this and managed to find some potatoes in the bottom of the fridge - not enough to go around individually, but enough to adapt into a salad for five persons. I then roasted the carrots and prepared the beans, then cleaned down to calm myself elsewhere.

On my return to the kitchen, I found it a mess all over again. Flatmates decided to gather dirty dishes from their rooms and dump them on the bench. I asked them to put them in the dishwasher so I could finish dinner, but they were playing a video-game making my existence non-existent. Small kitchen, I threw the dishes in the dishwasher, breaking one of the glasses, - flatmate's boyfriend told me to calm down - then they went sniggering out the backdoor. In the end, everything cooked as I hoped, then I made a gravy using the chicken drippings as the chicken rested.

"What's for dinner?" asked the boyfriend, and many sarcastic replies came to mind as everything was clearly and openly before his eyes. I replied 'roast chicken', and I heard him exhale as if he deserved better. My pride disintegrated in moments, and I turned round to look at all I had done, feeling a sense of sadness that my passion had been in vain. I tried to think of people whom I knew would appreciate the dinner, then plated everything for five persons.

As I plated, my flatmate and her boyfriend came out all dressed-up: one in a beautiful red dress, the other in jeans and a shirt - I forget who wore what -: and told me not to bother, they were going out for dinner, then quit the building. I looked at the plates with a sudden loss of appetite, then called the others - the others did not get off their video game for another hour; their dinner went cold.

"Huh? Why's it cold!" they said. I closed my eyes and sighed in disbelief, then looked up into their eyes without a word. They merely shrugged and inhaled their food; later they asked about the spare two dinners - I thought about the others, then said they can have them. I only await the complaints by my flatmate and her boyfriend.

For relaxation, I made a cup of tea and retreated to my room after having cleaned down the kitchen and started the dishwasher. The kitchen smelt of lime detergent by the end of the night, which was soothing and satisfying beyond relief, but within half an hour of its being cleaned, it was a mess again because the boys decided to have a fry-up. I told them to clean when they're done, but they said they'll do it in the morning ... I know they won't, but I got too anxious to push things further, and retreated again to my room and obsessed over utter nonsense.
 

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Aw dear. This made me wince, I have to say! I feel your pain. Sounds like you made a lovely dinner. Some people just don't know how to appreciate others :upset:
 
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