The Mean Reds. . .

Have an entirely different meaning. . . see me crouching on my porch and chain smoking an entire carton of marlboros. . .

Culinary Finals and Bklyn Nostalgia. . .

I can't believe I'm already taking exams for the first semester of culinary school. . . I swear I just started yesterday!! Holy crap. Time flies. . .

School is great. I'm learning so much. And I look pretty darn spiffy in my kitchen whites, I must say. I swear houndstooth pants will make an appearance in fashion week this year. . . haa.

So I've had one exam so far. And tomorrow I have my knife skills practical. I'm actually terrified of potatoes these days. They mock me and my lack of finesse with a tournee knife. booo.

. . . And everywhere I see Brooklyn. . . but through a window, darkly veiled. I miss the bridge, the walk, the train, my work, union square, american spirits, the strand, usc, kate, the snow, our old house on midwood street, hardo bread from allan's. . . There aren't any hobos hollering at me here. And I actually miss them, too.

One year ago tomorrow, badger was putting a ring on my finger and asking me to be his wife. . . and I just don't think i'll ever be the same.

Le Cordon Bleu . . . and sewage.

It's already week 3 of my culinary school adventures. . . I've moved out, and moved on. . . at least in the physical sense. It's just me and olive (the cat), and we're pretty happy, most of the time. Good music, great furniture, a great kitchen. . . what more could a girl possibly need?

Unfortunately, I spent the entire afternoon plunging the toilet, which seems to be clogged beyond clogged. Now there's some chemical in there that's supposed to do the trick. I had to mop my floors and clorox the whole house just to feel clean again. (I should be studying for my midterm/ writing my paper). . .

"I still can't seem to find a simple way to say goodbye. Not the kind for regrets. . . was there something I wanted to forget. . . either way you'd already made up your mind."- Girlyman lyrics. . . I still think about Badger. I still miss the feel of his arms around me. Late at night I lie awake until the tears roll down my cheeks and soak the pillow. . . it sounds pathetic. (and it is.) We're coming up on the 1-year mark here. . . and it's definitely time for me to just let go. Something in my heart will not give up on him.

What makes me write about Badger. . . and not about LCB?? I'm at LE CORDON BLEU!!! I'm in live with my life! I love cooking school. I love learning, and I love my new home. . . but there's a hairline fissure in my heart that just catches me off guard and makes me wince every now and then. I remember all the promises we made to each other. All the things he said (that I naively belived). . . that now mean nothing at all. . . phrases like:

"no matter what"

"always"

"i won't give up on you"

"i love you"

"marry me"

There must be a silver lining somewhere. And I know that culinary school is a part of it. . . I'm just having trouble with the storm.

one foot in. . . one foot back.

It's december now. And I miss Brooklyn with a raw and primal ache. Sometimes I wake up wishing for the subway and the local parks, the dirty snow and the greenmarkets. I'm utterly homesick. . . for brooklyn. . . For lost love. . . For old friends. And at night the tears roll down my cheeks, releasing the tension I've created throughout the day by feigning happiness. I pretend I'm fine. I smile constantly. I laugh freely. . . but late at night, when everyone has gone away. . . I weep. . . And it's not for badger. . . or maybe it is. I weep for home. . . because wherever home is, I'm not there yet.

I let someone else kiss me today. The first man I've kissed since I broke off the engagement. And I felt nothing. I don't know what I want anymore. I've spent the past several months hiding, scaring people away. It's easier to shield myself from love than to give in. I don't want to be hurt again. And I have no intention to allow myself that kind of pain. I don't know what I have become. . . I want to share my life with someone, but I don't want to give myself away again. . . only to be crushed underfoot and cast aside like a broken doll. It hurts too much. . . and here come the tears. After all, it is that time of night. . .

Home Sweet South . . .

Oh my. . . it's been too long since I've updated. . . or had access to a computer, for that matter. As I write this, I am sitting in my parents' living room. It's a strange and beautiful . . . and strange thing to move back in with your parents after being gone for so very long.

I don't have too much time at this very moment. But I want to give you a brief synopsis of the things that have happened since I last wrote:

• My dad flew up to NYC and we road tripped home with my cat and the few belongings I had left.
  
• I visited Le Cordon Bleu in Atlanta.
  

• I enrolled in the JANUARY 2010 class for Culinary Arts.

Well. . . I suppose that isn't too much. (And to be honest, it isn't ALL that happened: you're just getting the solid, factual, real-life sorts of things).

I borrowed my mom's car this afternoon and drove . . . just to get out of the house. Driving is precious alone time. My mind relaxes and I really start to think about things. . . the speed of life. And as I drove down a strip of Southern road, the tears began. Badger. Brooklyn. My old life. Have I done the right thing by coming home? I left my whole life in Brooklyn. . . and now I'm here. And I feel so very small.

gone baby gone . . .

Well, shucks. I really thought this blog would turn out to be a proverbial victory dance, championing the plight of a broken-hearted girl in Brooklyn, who rises above the adversity and eventually ekes out a living among the stars (veiled as they are beneath these bright city lights)

. . . But friends, I'm going home. Back to the south. Back to my family. Back to my roots.the truth is, I'm just too tired. I'm too alone. And I'm afraid that if I don't find some peace I might actually fall apart. There's nothing left for me here. I've lost everything I once owned-- not that it mattered-- it was all just "stuff".

More devastating have been the heart-losses. My heart is still shattered to pieces. I'm tired of quietly crying on the subway as I make my way back to my empty house. I miss Badger.

I actually called him earlier this week to see if he was up to spending just one more day with me. He, characteristically, insinuated that he thought I was silly and that he really didn't care one way or the other. It's quite possible that once I'm gone he may never see me again. . . AND HE DOESN'T CARE!!! (Ouch).

So Badger, I'm leaving. If you wait 4 more days you will have missed out on one last chance. . .to be with the girl you swore you once loved. The girl you swore you would never leave. The girl you swore you couldn't live with out.

(Does this make me pathetic? Yes: most definitely.)

Has anyone ever been hurt like this? Itks changing the color of my entire life. . . So I'm going home. So long, broke-lyn.

. . . gypsy heart. . .

if my life were a screenplay, it would be face down in the rejection pile. It's just not "believavle" enough. Really. So I was robbed on saturday. Some guy crawled up my fire escape, jimmied open my window and took everything that had any value.
I guess it's a blessing I don't have anything of real value- save my laptop and an old blackberry (both of which he took)- I'm writing this post from my phone! Hah. . .
I'm just so tired. It's been a rough go for me lately. And you know what? I think it's time for a change. I'm going home, folks!