I was in college when I started my ritual of making pancakes for lovers on Sunday mornings. The Jewish boy used to love the way I sliced up the bananas and tucked them into each hotcake with the tips of my fingers. It sure was messy… I rarely washed the bowl after cooking because a full belly is a lovely appetizer before rolling around on a dorm bed. And the Mexican boy used to love my strawberry empanadas, especially when the creamy filling oozed down the corners of my lips.
Over the years, the B-O-Yz have come and gone but I am still here, making pancakes and other delectable concoctions in my kitchen. They weren’t the ones who were discontent, I was. Why? Because I have an insatiable appetite for romance. I get bored easily.
But I’ve recently met a man who has kept me excited for almost a whole year! Imagine that! He’s got all the qualities I’ve been craving, and I am wondering if this is the ONE who will stick! Eck. Who am I kidding? I’ve got culturally induced ADD, so re-wiring my brain to commit should be quite a process. Given my impatience and appetite for freedom and new experiences, the odds are all against me.
So what do I do? How can I learn to write a novel after starting and ending so many short stories?
I wonder sometimes if the universe has already taken care of it for me and I just need to meet it halfway with an attitude of riding the highs and lows with grace. Or maybe I am lacking faith. I don’t really know what the right thing to do is at this point. So I guess I will cook!