Chicken Teriyaki Bowl #7

I dream in technicolor with surround sound and smell-o-vision.  These vivid dreams stick with me when I wake, polluting my brain until the coffee hits the cerebellum.

For weeks now my dreams have been filled with rage.  Not killing someone rage, but yelling at people rage or the cold rage you can’t express but just have to eat.  The rage that sits in your chest and makes it hard to breathe.

There is no identifiable target for this rage, which seems strange.  I mean, in the dream I’m obvious angry at someone or some situation, but that person or situation has no analog in the real world.

The dreams are very strange, like dreams usually are.  For example, last night I was a ghost getting ready for some big ghost ball.  Accompanied by a group of fashion-conscious ghosts we plundered the cosmetic department of some fancy department store to get ready.  I looked the height of ghost fashion in a Sweeney Todd sort of way when I realized I was wearing just one shoe.  I couldn’t find the other one. Rage ensued.

I’m fairly self-aware, I realize this dream is about loss or the inability to express something.  Is it related to my blocked creativity?  Will the rage resolve as I work through The Artist’s Way?

More peppers were ripe, so I make three bottles of garlicky heaven.  Garlic Lover Hot Sauce with a bit of cumin and honey for flavor.

I broke down and bought the bottles online because I was tired of half-empty pint bottles with hot sauce.  These even have the little dropper insert just like the real stuff.

I think my next batch will be a honey-smoked hot sauce with roasted peppers.  Mmmm.

For almost exactly one year I have been completely blocked creatively.  I can’t write, can barely eke out a blog post here or there, can’t knit or sew, and only occasionally experiment with new recipes in the kitchen.  I know I need to unclog and participating in the Artist’s Way Collective seemed like a great opportunity.

Since the day I’ve read about Creativityist hosting an Artist’s Way study group, I’ve been apprehensive.  I want to participate, but I am fearful and intimidated.  My Inner Critic has been haranguing me like a timeshare hawker in Puerto Vallarta.

At the bookstore today where I intended to buy the book, I almost didn’t.  I almost bought yet another brain-candy murder-thriller novel that would numb me for a few hours and then spend eternity on my bookshelf.  I vacillated.  I put The Artist’s Way back on the shelf twice.

I did finally purchase the book.  Acknowledging my fear (without understanding it, mind you) didn’t make the fear go away or even decrease, but it feels like a step forward.  My next step is to send my info to Creativityist and “officially” join.  So much panic over such a small step….

I never believed that those Georgia yahoos had found a Bigfoot because, deep down, I know they don’t exist. Within that rational, scientific abyss that sits in my mind like a black hole, sweeping everything into it and sucking all the atavistic joy out of weird, out-of-the-ordinary experiences, sits a critic who is cackling maniacally because I wanted to believe.

I really want a Bigfoot to be found. I want to have incontrovertible evidence of ghosts. I want Champ or Nessie to wash up on shore, aliens to land in Times Square and chupacabras to be displayed in zoos. I’d like telepathy to be scientifically verifiable, John Edwards to really talk to the dead and the Virgin Mary to appear on the Today Show.

This sad, emotional part of me curls into a little ball every time a hoax is revealed because it seems just a little more magic disappears from everyday life.

I have a head cold. I tried to ignore the throat that felt like sandpaper, the eyes that make dry and irritable seem like a good thing, the clog of nasty stuff keeping me from breathing through my right nostril.

I ignored it, so last night the cold came, battering me with body kicks before knocking me to the floor and grinding my head into the dirt. I looked for the bruises this morning, but all I feel are the aches in my muscles, the throbbing in my head, a throat that must have been strangled and the inability to breathe at all like a normal person.

I’m sorry I ignored you, cold. It was wrong of me. I’ll make it up by curling up on the couch, drinking peppermint tea and watching bad TV all day. Here’s the deal: I pay attention to you, you’ll lighten up on me, OK?

Don’t get me wrong - I’d LOVE for a Bigfoot carcass to be found, but let’s review what a reasonable person would do if they found a Bigfoot carcass:

• Take tons of pictures in situ
• Call the sheriff’s department
• Call Fish and Game
• Call all local news outlets
• Let Fish and Game and the sheriff protect any existing population

This whole thing smelled to high heaven to me from the time they said they didn’t know what to do/who to contect when they found the carcass. Matt Whitton is a cop, for chrissakes. If he didn’t know who exactly to call, he knew people who DID know.

A bunch of Cherry Hot Peppers were ready to be picked this weekend.  I already knew I wanted to make hot sauce with them, I just wasn’t sure what kind.

I ended up making Fire Plum Hot Sauce - with yellow plums, cinnamon, cloves, anise, black pepper, vinegar and honey.

The result, even without aging, is wonderful.  Very hot, but I find myself taking little tastes even so.  I can’t wait to see how it tastes with a little aging.

I’m thinking of buying some “real” pepper sauce bottles from Leeners and some cool labels from MyOwnLabels and giving the sauce as Christmas presents in a basket with other goodies.

Torn from CNN headlines:

Sex cult leader’s release terms spark outrage - I got nuthin’ here, but I just love this headline.

Xbox nailed to tree as punishment - I’ve heard that there are lots of problems with Xbox’s, but to punish one so severely just doesn’t seem right.

FDA: Controversial chemical in plastics is safe - That should reassure the plastic-eating public.

Texas district will let teachers carry guns - Geez, I went to school where we just got detention when we did something wrong.

Still-squirmy scorpions served on stick - OK, I’m going to revise my personal belief that anything on a stick has got to be delicious.

..except for Luke. I never was an egg fan, but the first time I saw Paul Newman’s Luke eat 50 eggs in “Cool Hand Luke” I couldn’t bear to even look at an egg for months.

Bittersweet news, then, that Newman is reportedly dying of cancer. He’s been given the grace to know that his time is limited and is supposedly putting his affairs in order.

Ripped from CNN News Headlines:

Family road trip survival strategies - only one all-purpose tool needed: duct tape.

Electric bikes fly off racks worldwide - So that’s what hit me on the head…

Dyslexic doctor has performed 40 executions - Well, he obviously can’t read the Hippocratic Oath: Never to do deliberate harm to anyone for anyone else’s interest.

Clinton supporters will be heard at convention - And heard, and heard, and heard, blah, blah, blah….

Bush warns Russia over Georgia ‘bullying’ - in other news: Pot calls Kettle black…