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I love to cook. It’s fun to peruse recipes and try them if they appeal to you or your family. There is something about the menial tasks of selecting ingredients, preparing them, and serving them up that makes my heart glad.
So, my husband is probably reading this going WHAT???…..She likes to cook? Why didn’t I know about this? What about all the burned pans, the half-cooked spaghetti, and the hot dogs I have been eating? And, alas, he would have every right to complain. Let me explain…..
My mother planned meals in advance for the week. I like to do the same. So, I make mental notes of what’s in the fridge and buy what I need when I go to the store so that I can serve up delicious meals every night for dinner. But something always seems to get in the way. Writing. Yes, I said writing.
You see, I have a disease called “writeritis.” The symptoms are scary – my eyes become glazed, my behind becomes glued to the chair, my fingers refuse to stop typing, I am unable to hear anything except the noise of a gypsy circus, and these things overrule even the worst hunger pangs. Husband? What husband? Oh, that one. For a minute I forgot I was married, that I have a family, that I have company coming for dinner. I was in Inzared’s head, we were riding an elephant, practicing for the next show. I forgot I was supposed to cook. What time is it anyway? I look around for the clock. Yikes – it’s almost 7 pm! And one more burned dinner later I am still looking for ways to change.
I wonder what people like me did in Inzared’s day – in the year 1843, for example. They certainly didn’t run to the nearest fast food restaurant for take-out. They didn’t pull a TV dinner out of the freezer to pop in the oven. They couldn’t pick up the telephone and call a pizza joint for delivery. I’m sure Inzared wasn’t always into making meals – oh, that’s right, she ate with the other performers in the cook tent – lucky her!
It’s so hard to stop what I’m doing – and I’m the type who would grab some crackers and cheese and eat at my desk while I continue working. After all, my book is my priority, isn’t it? Not according to my family. While my husband definitely does his fair share of cooking (and more) he enjoys a break now and again and appreciates it when I take a turn. Enter the crock pot. For some reason, I do like cooking in the morning – before I get into Inzared’s head. It’s easy to throw some ingredients in, turn it on, and smell the delicious odor of supper cooking while I work. And, the added benefit is that I can jump up from the computer, put it on the table, eat a good meal, and get back to work in a short period of time. Back to a primitive cooking fire with a tripod and cast iron kettle and a group of rowdy gypsy performers chatting noisily while they eat.
The good news is that I continue to lose weight while I write – I’m just too invested in the novel to take time to eat. And, I get lots of walking in, to think and take a break. All good for me. Maybe not so good for hubby? And another thing, all that frozen food will keep, right? Maybe we will have a blizzard? A tsunami? I can feed all our neighbors from my pantry – they will thank me.
What do you think? Would love to hear your comments – am I the only one out there who gets totally lost in my writing? Am I the only one who forgets to eat until I can barely crawl to the refrigerator because I am so weak? Drop me a comment and tell me how you deal with eating while you write.
My link for this post is Fix it and Forget It – a great blog with lots of crock pot recipes for busy writers (and other people too)!
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