Bloggers' block

It's not even that nothing's going on. Truly, for the first time in many months, there are things to talk about. However, they're still just things, and I wonder if that really means anything to anyone, even to me. The world isn't falling apart (or coming together for that matter), we haven't suddenly become rich and I'm not newly thin or busty or even smart. I think that reading The Bell Jar has taken its toll on me. I managed to escape without Sylvia Plath's suicidal depression, but I seem to have taken some of the darker, humbling reasoning with me.

I wish I could eat a ton of peanut butter and not gain any weight. I think if this were possible, my angst would all go away. Of course, this would be assuming I lived in a country where Peter Pan were readily available at the grocery store. Kind of like the time on Christmas Day in Texas when I found dozens of cans of Rotel tomatoes in every convenience store I tried, but wheat bread and skim milk were nowhere to be found. Texans know what's important. Britons do not.

So maybe it's hard to write about something that's "important" when my life consists of reading celebrity gossip, multiple trips to the Tespressco and how many shades of pink I'm willing to let my daughter wear at once. That pink thing could turn out to be important in the distant future, I bet: the difference between a Britney Spears-wanna-be and a Mia Hamm-wanna-be. Hmm.

I just found out that cooking rice in tons of excess water helps reduce the amount of starch in the edible portion significantly. To me, this would have been VERY IMPORTANT information years ago when I strictly adhered to the low carb diet. Where was the Barefoot Contessa when I needed her?