Seek The Joy

the 2% of my brain that isn’t actively sabotaging me: do your assignments. read a book. take a fucking shower

me:

You need to get into city hall for business, but all the streets are backed up for over a mile. Everyone appears to be just laying in the streets for as far as the eye can see. You shove your way through the masses, determined to get to city hall, but to your horror, you realize that is the epicenter of this madness. People are bowing down in worship to the William Penn statue atop the building. You see Jim Kenney lean out of his office window and smile- he believes this praise is for him. 

You’ve had to go to three separate eye doctors, certain something is wrong, something is deteriorating. Why can you only see in the color green? The doctors all assure you nothing is wrong, but you haven’t seen a normal color in over two weeks. All these buildings should not be green, it doesn’t make sense.

You are new in town, and your neighbor comes over to chat with a friendly, welcoming smile.“How ‘bout our Iggles, huh?”. You ask her what she’s talking about, but she merely laughs. “Our crazy Iggles! Youse know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout! Our undadawgs! They’re gonna be champions! Big ole’ Billy’s gonna make it happen furus, I can tell. Love them Iggles! Yo, jeet yet taday?” You are left blinking in oncoming horror, trying to piece these incoherent soundbites together. “Yiz want any cawfee?” You are visibly shaking at this point. What is this woman trying to communicate to you. She sees your tremors and laughs again. “Maybe not cawfee, huh? Well, hey, let’s just head over to the MAC machine by the ac-a-me and then I’ll treat youse to some good ole’ wooder-ice? Yo, maybe we can even grab some hoagies!” She has your arm and is dragging you along with her, her smile still plastered on, somehow friendly and threatening all at once. “C’mon! If we hurry, we might be able to catch the Iggles party down by the furry! GOW BURDS!” You cannot escape her grip and you feel sobs beginning to wrack your body. What is she saying.

Your dog got loose in the park and you are trying to locate him. But every where you turn, a person is wearing a german shepherd mask. They are standing there, motionless, seemingly lifeless. Unnerved, you carefully maneuver yourself through the crowd, looking for harmless little Chris. You can’t spot him in the horrifying sea of masked men. You need to get out of here. ‘Chris!’ you yell, hoping to attract his attention. Instead, to your terror, every single masked face turns in your direction. It is still terrifyingly quiet. ‘CHRIS!’ you call again, the desperation clear in your voice. The crowd all moves closer to you, the eye holes seemingly empty. Suddenly your little dog bursts through the crowd and happily leaps into your arms. You sigh in relief. ‘Let’s get out of here’ you mumble under your breath, but little Chris puts his paw up on your shoulder, looks you in the eye, and to your immense fear says, clear as day, ‘We can’t leave. We belong here.’ Trying to pull yourself together, you ask the puppy what he means. ‘We Are The Underdogs’. The masked crowd around you begins to chant ‘Underdogs’ over and over as they move in. Your screams cannot be heard over them. Six hours later, you awake in your home, and when you look in the mirror, you discover you are wearing the german shepherd mask. It will not come off no matter how hard you pull at it. You weep, for now you too are an underdog.

People keep screaming ‘Dilly Dilly’. No one really knows why. It’s just kinda happening. 

You are in the library alone, late at night, trying to cram for an exam, when you are suddenly approached by the ghost of Benjamin Franklin. He leans against the desk, splashing bud light all over your textbooks, and one glance at him confirms he’s been recently snorting cocaine. ‘Hey,’ he says, ‘If you suck my dick I’ll pull some strings on the other side so the Eagles will kick Boston’s ass’. You groan. “Ben, please, I’m not in the mood”. He raises an eyebrow, ‘Fine, fine, but if they loose, it’s gonna be on you. Don’t you love your family?’. You know he’s right. Papa’s heart couldn’t possibly take another crushing blow. You take a deep breathe to steady yourself before following him into the backroom. 

Alien visitations have increased in tenfold since the city learned the Eagles were going to the super bowl. But hardly anyone has noticed, because everyone is painted green themselves. The aliens have been loving all the cheesesteaks.

‘Say Mama’ you beg your child. He should have started talking months ago. ‘Mama’. He puts his chubby little hands on your cheeks and presses his precious face to yours. ‘Are you gonna say Mama?’ you try again. The child blinks, before clearing his throat and saying “In Nick Foles We Trust”. You cry yourself to sleep that night as your husband high fives all his friends.

Every person knows a person who was personally punched by acclaimed actor Bradley Cooper after voicing distaste for the Eagles.

New Jersey, continuing their act of Just Wanting To Be Philly, lights up everything green as well and makes a big show of prosecuting Boston fans. No one finds it cute. They try harder and harder each time they don’t get a reaction. CBS News tries to give them a shoutout to just get the madness to end, but Ukee is interrupted by the ghost of Betsy Ross yelling ‘she doesn’t even go here!’. Adam Joseph writes a think-piece on the whole situation. 

Theater-loving fans everywhere scream out as Leslie Odom Jr. appears to be wearing Patriots colors while singing America the Beautiful despite the fact he’s from Philly. Betrayal is in the air. 

You have an accident and cut your arm, when you realize to your horror that instead of blood, something green is oozing out of the wound. You scream, scream so much you start up a hacking cough, and are further terrified to find a green haze coming out of your mouth. Someone runs to your aid, and wordlessly, panicked, you show them your injury. They laugh and shrug, sounding relieved. “Oh, that’s nothing, your fine! You know we all bleed green around here!”

“What the fuck is Minnesota?” is a question you grow used to hearing. You aren’t even quite sure you know the answer yourself. It’s irrelevant, anyway, because we all know there’s not really a world outside of Philly. 

Every report you see on the super bowl mentions ‘The Philadelphia Eagles’. Every article online, every late night show host, it’s all about the Philadelphia Eagles. You feel your breaths quicken pace, your heart pound, your palms sweat as you press them to your forehead, trying to contain your oncoming panic. Philadelphia Eagles? Philadelphia Eagles? What the fuck is the Philadelphia Eagles? You know only of the Philly Iggles. You were told your favorite team of the Philly Iggles were going to the super bowl. You choke back a sob. Had you bought all this merchandise for nothing, then? Why would someone lie to you like this? 

Fireworks have been shot off in every part of the city for the past week, so much so that you can no longer hear properly anymore. You are irrationally ashamed of this, and try your best to keep it a secret. Every time someone tries to talk to you, you just respond ‘Go birds!’. It works flawlessly.

Your father has been barricading the house for three days now, a panicked, mad look in his eyes. You ask him what’s wrong. “This city is going to burn, baby! We have to stay safe!”. You remind him that no one knows who’s going to win the super bowl yet. He looks to you with a broken stare, tears running down his face. “It doesn’t matter, honey, it doesn’t matter- WE ARE ALL GOING TO BURN.”

You smile at the girl wearing an Eagles jersey on the bus, and ask her where in the city she’s from. “Oh, Willow Grove, but-”. Your stare grows cold and uncaring. That’s not Philly. That’s the suburbs. “It’s like, 20 minutes outside it though, it counts. I‘m in the city all the tim-”. You cut her off. She doesn’t belong here. That jersey is not meant for her to wear. “But we’re all really excited for the Eagles in the suburbs, too! It’s all we-”. She falls silent at your glare. The rest of the bus has tuned into the conversation and turn to her with matching looks. She does not deserve that jersey. 

Pope Francis glances at his small tv blasting the CBS3 News cast, and sighs wistfully into his bite of cheesesteak. “They used to talk about me nonstop,”. His aids acknowledge his mood. His Holiness sighs again, “If only they knew….that I put in that good word for them. That I made this happen.“ He sighed once more. This truly was a thankless job.

Philly Jesus can be found in a green robe, dancing with passerby near the LOVE statue and taking pictures. The cops can’t even bring themselves to arrest him this time, everyone is relishing in the good mood. The news breaks that the Eagles are in the lead. In celebration, Philly Jesus claps his hands and everyone’s drinks turn to wine. Holy shit, he’s actual Jesus. Unfortunately now the cops have to arrest him for distributing alcohol to minors and for carrying it open in public. This is somehow on brand for the city.

You light an alter in your dark room. On it sits a photo of the entire Eagles team, a box of Quaker Oats with William Penn smiling benevolently at you, a nude of Bradley Cooper, and a picture of Ben Franklin with double blunts in his mouth and gold chains around his neck. You make your promises, and then place your offerings of tastykakes and soft pretzels. Almost as if on cue, green fire works explode outside your window and you here the people in the next room scream ‘TOUCHDOWN!’. You smile. You knew your boys would never let you down. 

Your mother is a bad luck charm. You know this, and she knows this, and she is somehow stronger than you in this moment. You are still fighting back tears as she hands you the blade. “It needs to be done. Make it quick, love.” You don’t dare open your eyes as you dispose of the bad luck. You will miss your mother, but the city needs this win more than you needed her. 

A terrifying green fog has rolled in over the city, completely engulfing it, it would be near impossible to see through if not for all the fires popping up. No one even bothers to question it. We all know what it means. We all know how this night is going to end. 

I did okay majoring in Political Science and American Government in undergrad though. I graduated summa cum laude so I figure I must have learned something?

Law school also went alright I guess? I did somehow manage to get an article about the constitutionality and modification of excessive force laws through out the 50 states placed in a national publication. And I also managed to pass the Bar Exam. 

wait until it gets dark and make tea or coffee or hot chocolate, or if it’s too hot outside make yourself a healthy smoothie with your favorite things in it at any point during the day

put on your favorite underwear, it helps, trust me, it’s an old family secret (i’m not kidding)

if you have a pet, play the “how many things can i stick on you until you move or get mad” game (bonus points if they fall asleep, extra bonus points if a family member sees you and tells you to quit it, extra double ultra points if they join in)

rip a peice of paper into as many little pieces as you can

go to animeseason.com and click “random anime” until you see one that looks completely ridiculous (or actually good) and watch the first episode. repeat if it sucked or if you get bored halfway through

spend at least an hour making a music playlist for how you feel right now and save it for now or when you feel a bad mood rise again

curl up in bed and cover yourself with blankets and pillows and put in music and just lay there for a while (sleeping is also good)

eat everything

drink lots of water

it’s okay bad moods don’t last forever!!!!!! i promise!!! you will be yourself soon and there are people who love you very much, don’t be afraid to reach out to them

you are lovely

i bet there is still a box of crayons in your house somewhere (if not you can get them cheap during back-to-school sales); find them and use them (maybe while watching ridiculous anime)

sunshine if you can manage it or just a sun lamp trust me it matters more than you think especially in winter

hugs even if they are stuffed animals or your pet or your pillow whatever is on hand

if you’ve got a favorite lotion/soap/thing that is scented use it liberally

cry if you need, if it doesn’t start by itself or if you don’t want to attract attention put on a sad movie so you have an excuse

write this down to pull out on future bad days:

it is okay to have a day where you don’t get things done

it is okay not to have a reason for feeling bad

taking care of yourself is a worthwhile use of time

The Comfort Spot- anon venting, it’s like a community based thing

Quiet Time

90 Second Relaxation

The Dawn Room - please check this out, it works

My brain: acknowledged

Me: …… so uh why aren’t we doing that

Above: Possibly the most photogenic bread I’ve ever baked on Flickr.

From the household: the easiest bread recipe with really good results

This is the bread I make when I need plain white bread for everyday sandwich or toast purposes. It has a lovely crumb and is a substantial bread, not an airy-fairy “pan loaf” of the type too damn common in British and Irish supermarkets. (Which is not to mean that it’s one of those loaves you make that refuses to rise and which you therefore desperately characterize as “substantial” so people will think you meant it to come out that way.)

The basic recipe came from the website of Bäckerei Sieber in Au, a town in Canton St. Gallen in Switzerland. The recipe itself is for Tessinerbrot or “bread from Ticino”; down in that southern canton the Roman breadmaking techniques have persisted unusually tenaciously. Since Roman bread had a deserved reputation for being very high-end indeed – a reputation which Spanish-bred bakers brought to it – this is a good thing.

The peculiarity about this recipe (from the North American home baker’s point of view, anyway) is that the recipe manages its ingredients by mass rather than volume, even for the liquid. This is how professional bakers do things, though, at least in Switzerland: it seems to get around the problem of how much moisture your local flour is in a mood to absorb today. One caveat: this dough tends toward the wet and sticky end of the bread dough spectrum, so it’s really easier made in a mixer with a dough hook.  Also, I sometimes bake this using the bake-it-in-a-preheated-pot technique which derives from the famous Lahey no-knead bread recipe. Pot baking produces a good high rise with little work, and with a really nice crust. (Though sometimes the old-fashioned loaf pan technique produces very superior results, as above. The Bread Fairy was really sitting on my shoulder that day.)

This recipe makes one big loaf. I’ve baked this in anything from a Romertopf to a single US-style loaf pan to a 3-liter lidded casserole of enamelled cast iron. This recipe branches several times: think of it as a Choose-Your-Own-Bread story.

The ingredients: