Last night I came home from an absolutely crazy day at work where I saw some really ugly behavior over absolutely small stuff. Then I found that the dogs had strewn the kitchen garbage can over half the house, and something had disagreed with the cat's tummies all over my laundry room floor. How fitting, how wonderful. After, I'd picked up, thrown away and mopped up, I was exhausted, too wound up to sleep, and eating anything was unappealing.
Come midnight, I was finally hungry and still wide awake. Another frozen dinner or PB&J sandwich just wasn't going to cut it. I really wanted rice pudding, and I decided that I was going to have it. I'd never made rice pudding, so I looked online for a simple recipe. I found one that looked easy enough except for one thing -- a slow two hour and a half hour cooking time. I also didn't have any raisins or white sugar but decided that brown sugar would do. As alert as I was, I decided to go for it. Cutting the recipe in half took an hour off the cooking time, and I read blogs while my house filled up with a creamy, nutmegy, cinnamony aroma.
Around two in the morning, I had a cereal bowl sized serving of fresh, hot from the oven rice pudding. The texture was perfect, smooth enough and firm enough. It was subtly sweet and delicate without being bland. I sat there smiling for a good hour after I finished my pudding. It felt so good to cook something from scratch just for me. I wrote the other day about not really cooking for myself and feeling alienated from my own kitchen since I've been alone. Last night was a small but significant change. I knew what I wanted. I decided I was worth it. I took action, and I succeeded. It may have just been rice pudding, but I'm proud.