This week I’ve had quite a reckoning. (It also just took me forever to spell that word?) I finished the novel that I’ve been saving as a reward for finishing a challenging non-fiction read on the future of food (look for that next week), and I felt … different. Usually, when I dive back into the world of fiction after a slog through a technical, intense couple hundred of pages, I feel a kind of sick relief. Like “OH THANK GOD, FAKE THINGS.” But this time was different.
This time, as I finished Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore, I felt kind of empty. More dissatisfied than I usually do with the fact that it was a fiction book I had just read. More .. bored. More like you do when you accidentally eat half the bag of chips. You know what I mean. “Well, I just consumed a bunch of potato and salt flavored air. Now what?” What does this mean? Does it mean I’m getting old? Does it mean that soon I’ll forget what I ever loved about fiction and be ten episodes deep in Planet Earth?
I wouldn’t feel so panicked about this if I hadn’t opened my big mouth and said “What if we made buckwheat pancakes instead?” when Colin suggested a big pancake breakfast the other morning. I mean come on. Buckwheat. At breakfast. In pancake form! Who am I turning into? AH!
To make myself feel a little bit younger and hipper (if that’s even what the youths are calling it these days), I made a nice toasted oat and almond crumble for the pancakes too, and that made me feel a little bit better. Until I realized that I’m basically eating oatmeal for breakfast. Sigh. Stay tuned.