The Ides of March.

I once stood where Caesar was stabbed.  In the Largo di Torre Argentina, in Rome, when I was nineteen.  There are lion statues there and the myth goes that one puts his hand into the lion's mouth and if it closes, he's deceitful.  I didn't put my hand in.  I'll never put my hand in.

I lie a lot.  I lie about small things that aren't even white, they're paler than that.  They are innocent, but entrapping.  They are gnat-like and hover around sweet things, sweet people I find attractive.  I want to impress.  It's been a characteristic about me since I was a child. I don't know if I've ever really impressed anyone, but it's always fun to pretend.

Loneliness is the most unkindest cut of all.  I am often left in a dissatisfaction at my own amusement with simple pleasures.  I have had the house to myself for two days and have taken Murphy to the sitter's and drove in the car for nearly an hour and a half total.  I put a bid on a house, a house that's shared, a house that has a concrete backyard and is close to a tennis court.  A house that's in a nice neighborhood, but is equalized to our standard by the budget we set for it.  I could never live alone.

Then I wonder why I crave it so much.  Why I sit facing a certain way, away from others.  Why I am so bothered by the constant, incessant need to ask how my day is.  Why do pleasantries make me recoil?  I think it's the inauthenticity of it all, the mechanism of courtesy and the lack of true, distinct attention that I may get from so-and-so.  I cannot impress the disinterested.  I need an audience to survive.


I'll wait patiently.  I will go to the dog park that doesn't have grass and is volunteer-driven and I will talk to a woman named Mariel about our dogs and I will drain my battery to 10% talking to my dad about his business trip to Arkansas and I will drink a whole Gatorade and wake up at 5:45 am to ensure I get to read A Farewell to Arms in the brown leather couches of a Starbucks close to work.  I applied for a part-time job at a French bakery and lied on my resume (as I always tend to do). I ate cereal for dinner last night.  I made tacos today.


And while I wait for my audience to come back, I will listen to Murphy breath heavy and taste the goods I made myself.




Cornmeal Cookies (via)


  • 1 stick unsalted butter, softened (1/2 cup)
  • 1/2 cup sugar
  • 1/4 tsp. salt
  • Zest of one lime
  • 1 large egg
  • 1 tsp. vanilla extract
  • 3/4 cup flour
  • 1/2 cup 100% yellow cornmeal + extra for rolling 


  • Preheat oven to 375 Fahrenheit
  • In a large bowl, whip softened butter and sugar until light and fluffy.
  • Beat in salt, zest, egg, vanilla.
  • Add flour and then cornmeal once incorporated.  Use a rubber spatula to mix to ensure full incorporation, as mixers often do not get the bottom/sides of bowl.
  • (Variant from original) Allow to rest in freezer for a few minutes.
  • Pat or roll onto floured/cornmeal-dusted board.
  • Cut into rounds.
  • Place on parchment-lined baking sheet.
  • Bake 8-12 minutes until just golden on edges.
  • Allow to cool.


(I paired these with a grapefruit curd, which will be featured in my next post)