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.