The Casserole

This casserole made me cry tonight.

I didn't really feel like making it- been in a bit of a mood all day.  You know how it is.  Feeling empty and lost and such...

Sunday night we had tacos for dinner- that and a Knorr (or whoever's making it right now) packet of Spanish Rice.  But there was still a lot of taco meat left.  Maybe a cup or so.  Something like that.  And about the same amount of rice.

I knew I had refried beans, cheese, more rice, salsa, and olives at home.  Maybe not everything that I wanted, but still the makings of a decent leftover extravaganza.

So, I came home, boiled the rice, drained it (boil in bag, suckas!), added a jar of salsa, stirred in the leftovers, added some black beans and black olives, then layered it up in the casserole with refried beans and cheese.

Fast forward thirty minutes.  I take it out of the oven and scoop some into a small bowl.  I started eating it...and crying.

Because at that moment in time, that stupid casserole defined my life.  My job.  My *LIFE*.  I get one life.  It isn't very long, really.  And I'm just wasting it cooking pathetic casseroles.  Who needs a life when you could be in my kitchen trying to reuse leftovers??

Look.  I'm 36.  My body will fade and die...it is a fact.  One day I will no longer be breathing.  No one will remember me.  ...and this- THIS- is what I'm doing with the little time I have?  Pathetic.

So I cried.  Because sometimes I want to feel like I'm getting a little more out of my life than a casserole. 

I don't really know how to fix that.  I actually don't think it can be fixed.  It's not that there's really anything wrong with my life, it's more along the lines of there being something wrong with my head at the moment.

So, I sighed.  And I rationalized.  And it didn't make it any better.

I suppose that will have to do for now.  Patting myself on the head and saying, "You'll feel differently some other day."

But...it's not what I want to hear right now.  Because right now, I just want something to matter or seem important -more important than fixed up leftovers. 

Maybe it's why I've been writing so much lately?  I don't know.  I suppose it doesn't really matter.

At any rate, I'm going to go blubber the night away.  At least the dishes are washed.  I put the loathsome casserole away so I don't have to look at it anymore.

It gave me heartburn.