Musings on life through food. Not a chef, not a foodie, just a hungry girl exploring the relationship between our stomachs and souls.đŤśđ â¨. Cl
We really don't talk about food enough.
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Musings on life through food. Not a chef, not a foodie, just a hungry girl exploring the relationship between our stomachs and souls.đŤśđ â¨. Cl
We really don't talk about food enough.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Musings on life through food. Not a chef, not a foodie, just a hungry girl exploring the relationship between our stomachs and souls.đŤśđ â¨. Cl
We really don't talk about food enough.
"to be a librarian was to come as close as any human being can to sitting in the peak-seat of eternity's engine." --SK
is anyone actually writing on tumblr anymore?
"to be a librarian was to come as close as any human being can to sitting in the peak-seat of eternity's engine." --SK
is anyone actually writing on tumblr anymore?
"to be a librarian was to come as close as any human being can to sitting in the peak-seat of eternity's engine." --SK
is anyone actually writing on tumblr anymore?

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
im in hell
Lent, as an atheist
I was born and raised a devout Catholic. My parents never intended to raise me so devotedly, they just liked the communityâ I was the one who took it so seriously. I was severely stern with my young self about the rules of Catholicism. I observed Lent rigorously for the formative years of my life.
Ash Wednesday (today!) marks the beginning of Lent, with Easter as its conclusion. Lent spans 40 days and nights (never actually though, this year itâs 44). Lent is a time for Catholics to repent, strengthen their faith, and practice self-discipline. Or, as my 6th-grade Catholic school teacher put it, Lent is a reminder that "life canât always be fun." During this period, you give up something that gives you pleasure. As a child, I often sacrificed dessert. One year, I tried giving up âsaying no,â but quickly reverted to dessert.
I went to Catholic School until 7th grade, and amongst the other public school students, I was the only devout believer. I held hard onto my faith, but I grew angrier, and filled with anxiety as realities began to occur to me that didnât coincide with what I knew about Catholicism. My hormones kicked in and my religion was self-hatred. My thoughts were filled with sins, I was curious about my body, and other bodies. I wanted to say âfuck.â I am and have been an atheist since high school.
I struggle with internalized Catholicism. Overcoming shame has been a constant battle. I only held resentment toward the religion I was raised in until I read Sue Monk Kiddâs The Book of Longing at the age of 21. Kiddâs novel imagines the life of Ana, the fictional wife of Jesus Christ, exploring her journey of faith and longing. Reading this utterly beautiful novel opened my eyes to a new way of looking at the Bible; as a story.
I love story. I am a librarian after all.
At the age of 21, I wasnât doing well. I ghosted all my friends and moved to an off-season vacation town. I would go days, even a few weeks, without seeing another human being. I would wake up. Drink coffee, write for 20 minutes, smoke pot, go back to sleep, wake up, walk my dog, smoke pot, take a nap, wake up, smoke pot, bake a potato, smoke pot, eat potato, go to bed. In February of that year, a mouse peed in the oven so I couldnât bake any more potatoes without the entire house filling with the stench of hot mouse piss. And my grandfather had just died, so I ended up spending a lot of time at my parentsâ house.
My grandfather was the Chief of Religion in our family. Growing up heâd successfully bribed my younger cousin and me to go to church with him for many Sundays under the promise of donuts afterwards. My parents only wanted me to be confirmed so they didnât have to explain why I wasnât (he never asked though, in proper Irish Catholic fashionâ donât ask, donât tell). When he died it felt like a piece of God had died, too. But wait, I thought I didnât believe in God?
My grandfather and my ego were dead. I was trapped in a cycle of loneliness, back in my childhood bedroom. I practiced lent that year because I found comfort in the idea of punishing myself. Restricting pleasure just âcause. Reminding myself that life was suffering. I wasnât kidding about that internalized Catholicism.
I went to mass on Ash Wednesday that year. I was living at home, and felt drawn to my childhood church. I wanted to hear the priest say those words to me (I needed someone to say it to me!), âyou are dust, and to dust you shall return.â
During the homily (for my non-catholic readers, the homily is when the priest gets to do a topical riff), this priest, whom I had never seen before, explained Lent differently. He explained that we are all birds. That a bird tied down cannot fly. That it doesnât matter if a bird is tied by barbed wire, or string, it still canât fly. Lent is a time for us birds to look at what is tying us down, and figure out how to fly again by spring time.
Pot was my string. It wasnât anything hard, like pills, even booze (barbed wire), so I excused it. Pot helped me get through days I didnât want to wake up for. Pot made me laugh during a time no one else was. Pot made me eat. Sometimes I feel I owe it my life for that one. But pot had also allowed me to think that the way I was living was okay. I couldnât handle hard feelings, I smoked them all away. So, that year, I gave up pot for Lent. I didnât fly away the moment the string was cut, but I stretched my wings, and I was aware, at least, that I could fly.
I was sober, friendless and abstinent for 40 days and 40 nights that year. Looking back, I donât know how I did. I am so proud of myself. Eventually, I flew.
Now, three years later, I am in a much better place. I am confident, again, in my atheism. I am not looking at Lent this year as salvation as I had back then. God damn, I want to fly higher. And when I look at my feet, I can see a string.
Lent, as an atheist, is untying the string for 40(ish) days to see the heights you can hit. You donât have to stay there, probably you canât fly that high forever, but youâll learn what youâre capable of, youâll remember the view.
Also, the priests no longer say âyou are dust, and to dust you shall returnâ anymore. They say, "Repent and believe in the Gospel" which I will not and do not.
4Way Stop
Iâve learned everything I need to know about human beings at the four-way stop down the street from my house. Every day I drive through it, often twice a day, and am treated to a slice of life.
Here, I meet the man in charge. Perhaps he doesnât get enough respect at home, and now here, at the four-way stop down the street from my house, he will assert his dominance in this world. Waving on whomever he deems worthy to move through this temporary stop. Even though it is his turn. When he feels in control again, he moves through that four-way stop leaving the rest of us helpless and clueless. How are we supposed to know what to do at this four-way stop without you, Mr. Honorary Traffic Director?
Itâs hard not to pity those who approach with such fear. Is this how you live your life? You started stopping a mile away. You saw me in your headlights and leaned on the brake. You are too scared to stop, because that will mean you must go again. Even when you go, you feel you have made a mistake, every inch you move forward is a foot you move deeper because certainly you (certainly you) made a mistake and now everyone is mad at you!
You allow yourself to be cut off by agents of chaos, who move stealthily like ninjas in their four-door trucks, why should they wait for you? They are faster. They are more efficient. They are Ford. They are above the rules, 2 and a half feet above your sedan, to be exact.
There are us communists, who kneel willingly and eternally to the invisible tyrants of the road. Treating metal signs like law. We stop when they tell us to, and go when itâs our turn. What does that say about us?
And there are those we met on the rare occasion their paths line up with ours exactly. I canât imagine how different our days were before this, yet we met here, across from one another, stopped at the four-way stop in the same second. Ships in the night. Our rom-com meet-cute. You wait for me, and I wait for you. Maybe we should go at the same time. Maybe it will be crazy, but maybe it will be beautiful.

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ask me a question
4Way Stop
Iâve learned everything I need to know about human beings at the four-way stop down the street from my house. Every day I drive through it, often twice a day, and am treated to a slice of life.
Here, I meet the man in charge. Perhaps he doesnât get enough respect at home, and now here, at the four-way stop down the street from my house, he will assert his dominance in this world. Waving on whomever he deems worthy to move through this temporary stop. Even though it is his turn. When he feels in control again, he moves through that four-way stop leaving the rest of us helpless and clueless. How are we supposed to know what to do at this four-way stop without you, Mr. Honorary Traffic Director?
Itâs hard not to pity those who approach with such fear. Is this how you live your life? You started stopping a mile away. You saw me in your headlights and leaned on the brake. You are too scared to stop, because that will mean you must go again. Even when you go, you feel you have made a mistake, every inch you move forward is a foot you move deeper because certainly you (certainly you) made a mistake and now everyone is mad at you!
You allow yourself to be cut off by agents of chaos, who move stealthily like ninjas in their four-door trucks, why should they wait for you? They are faster. They are more efficient. They are Ford. They are above the rules, 2 and a half feet above your sedan, to be exact.
There are us communists, who kneel willingly and eternally to the invisible tyrants of the road. Treating metal signs like law. We stop when they tell us to, and go when itâs our turn. What does that say about us?
And there are those we met on the rare occasion their paths line up with ours exactly. I canât imagine how different our days were before this, yet we met here, across from one another, stopped at the four-way stop in the same second. Ships in the night. Our rom-com meet-cute. You wait for me, and I wait for you. Maybe we should go at the same time. Maybe it will be crazy, but maybe it will be beautiful.
Lent, as an atheist
I was born and raised a devout Catholic. My parents never intended to raise me so devotedly, they just liked the communityâ I was the one who took it so seriously. I was severely stern with my young self about the rules of Catholicism. I observed Lent rigorously for the formative years of my life.
Ash Wednesday (today!) marks the beginning of Lent, with Easter as its conclusion. Lent spans 40 days and nights (never actually though, this year itâs 44). Lent is a time for Catholics to repent, strengthen their faith, and practice self-discipline. Or, as my 6th-grade Catholic school teacher put it, Lent is a reminder that "life canât always be fun." During this period, you give up something that gives you pleasure. As a child, I often sacrificed dessert. One year, I tried giving up âsaying no,â but quickly reverted to dessert.
I went to Catholic School until 7th grade, and amongst the other public school students, I was the only devout believer. I held hard onto my faith, but I grew angrier, and filled with anxiety as realities began to occur to me that didnât coincide with what I knew about Catholicism. My hormones kicked in and my religion was self-hatred. My thoughts were filled with sins, I was curious about my body, and other bodies. I wanted to say âfuck.â I am and have been an atheist since high school.
I struggle with internalized Catholicism. Overcoming shame has been a constant battle. I only held resentment toward the religion I was raised in until I read Sue Monk Kiddâs The Book of Longing at the age of 21. Kiddâs novel imagines the life of Ana, the fictional wife of Jesus Christ, exploring her journey of faith and longing. Reading this utterly beautiful novel opened my eyes to a new way of looking at the Bible; as a story.
I love story. I am a librarian after all.
At the age of 21, I wasnât doing well. I ghosted all my friends and moved to an off-season vacation town. I would go days, even a few weeks, without seeing another human being. I would wake up. Drink coffee, write for 20 minutes, smoke pot, go back to sleep, wake up, walk my dog, smoke pot, take a nap, wake up, smoke pot, bake a potato, smoke pot, eat potato, go to bed. In February of that year, a mouse peed in the oven so I couldnât bake any more potatoes without the entire house filling with the stench of hot mouse piss. And my grandfather had just died, so I ended up spending a lot of time at my parentsâ house.
My grandfather was the Chief of Religion in our family. Growing up heâd successfully bribed my younger cousin and me to go to church with him for many Sundays under the promise of donuts afterwards. My parents only wanted me to be confirmed so they didnât have to explain why I wasnât (he never asked though, in proper Irish Catholic fashionâ donât ask, donât tell). When he died it felt like a piece of God had died, too. But wait, I thought I didnât believe in God?
My grandfather and my ego were dead. I was trapped in a cycle of loneliness, back in my childhood bedroom. I practiced lent that year because I found comfort in the idea of punishing myself. Restricting pleasure just âcause. Reminding myself that life was suffering. I wasnât kidding about that internalized Catholicism.
I went to mass on Ash Wednesday that year. I was living at home, and felt drawn to my childhood church. I wanted to hear the priest say those words to me (I needed someone to say it to me!), âyou are dust, and to dust you shall return.â
During the homily (for my non-catholic readers, the homily is when the priest gets to do a topical riff), this priest, whom I had never seen before, explained Lent differently. He explained that we are all birds. That a bird tied down cannot fly. That it doesnât matter if a bird is tied by barbed wire, or string, it still canât fly. Lent is a time for us birds to look at what is tying us down, and figure out how to fly again by spring time.
Pot was my string. It wasnât anything hard, like pills, even booze (barbed wire), so I excused it. Pot helped me get through days I didnât want to wake up for. Pot made me laugh during a time no one else was. Pot made me eat. Sometimes I feel I owe it my life for that one. But pot had also allowed me to think that the way I was living was okay. I couldnât handle hard feelings, I smoked them all away. So, that year, I gave up pot for Lent. I didnât fly away the moment the string was cut, but I stretched my wings, and I was aware, at least, that I could fly.
I was sober, friendless and abstinent for 40 days and 40 nights that year. Looking back, I donât know how I did. I am so proud of myself. Eventually, I flew.
Now, three years later, I am in a much better place. I am confident, again, in my atheism. I am not looking at Lent this year as salvation as I had back then. God damn, I want to fly higher. And when I look at my feet, I can see a string.
Lent, as an atheist, is untying the string for 40(ish) days to see the heights you can hit. You donât have to stay there, probably you canât fly that high forever, but youâll learn what youâre capable of, youâll remember the view.
Also, the priests no longer say âyou are dust, and to dust you shall returnâ anymore. They say, "Repent and believe in the Gospel" which I will not and do not.
hey. sit back. relax. let me read a little poetry to you.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
hey. sit back. relax. let me read a little poetry to you.