Food Envy

I was sulking over a bowl of canned soup and a bag of Cheetos tonight, a kind of culinary navel gazing wherein I felt put upon for the lot I was in. Didn't I just successfully make tea scones over the weekend? Wasn't it true that not even two months ago, I made a not only edible, but delicious pear gruyere pie? Too true, I think. Except with everything I make that requires the use of cooking equipment and more than three ingredients, I have familial supervision, if not wholehearted assistance at all times.

Maybe that's the problem. Maybe one day I will cook a meal by myself with no watchful eye making sure I don't have a disaster. One day is not today, but maybe in the near future. I finished The Year of Magical Thinking tonight and marvel that John Gregory Dunne had ever wondered if his life was a waste. His measure being whether or not they were able to do the things they actually wanted. I share similar feelings. Is my life how I wished it would be? Do I get to do the things I want more than just the things I should? Not always. But quite often. Does this mean I have a happy life? Probably.