Real Life

0 comments on "Cat food sushi"

I laid down for a short nap today… and woke up 2-1/2 hours later. I must have been tired out from all the cat food sushi.

Why do I call it that? Because it’s made using cans of tuna fish and kind of looks like cat food. Though it tastes pretty all right.

catfood_sushi1
1. Spread some rice over half of a sheet of seaweed (nori). I flavored the rice with salt, sugar, and vinegar to taste.

catfood_sushi2
2. Add a layer of tuna fish on the rice. I flavored the tuna with sesame oil, garlic powder, and sriracha. This would be a good time to add other toppings if you’ve got them: green onion, egg, yellow kimchi, spinach, avocado, gochujang sauce.

catfood_sushi33. Use the plastic wrap to shape and roll the sushi.
catfood_sushi4The plastic wrap makes it a lot easier to control your roll 😛 You can poke back in anything that comes out the ends and squeeze the roll into a tighter shape.
catfood_sushi54. Wet a sharp knife and slice the roll through the plastic wrap.
catfood_sushi6The pieces maintain their shape and you can pull the plastic wrap off when you’re done.
catfood_sushi7

At this point, you can eat them as is, or enjoy them with a dipping sauce of soy sauce, sesame oil, crushed red pepper, garlic powder, and chopped green onion.

Even if your pantry is a bit bare, you can find tasty food to make and enjoy.

If you’ve got rice, seaweed, and a couple cans of tuna fish, you’re not going to go hungry today. Pair it with some miso soup and you’ve got a filling meal for yourself and your family.

Hogfather at Amazon
1 comment on "Letters: Trust myself in you."

I love to write. There’s something beautiful and wonderful about words, a magic that goes much deeper than pen, ink, or a digital image on a screen.

It is unfortunate, but words don’t really pay a whole lot and the human body needs food to live. The brain is a story producing engine that requires fuel — food, sleep, a surcease from stress. And lately I have felt very run down and afraid.

I am fairly open about my mental health issues. It’s not something I feel a need to hide — I might not wear the tee shirt, but I’m not ashamed either.

There is a part of me that is desperately afraid of attention and success. I want to do well in life, but at my core I feel as though I need to be punished. I do not deserve love or comfort; I should live in squalor and do without food or sleep.

I cannot explain the part that hates myself. That’s why it’s called a mental illness. There’s something living in my brain and it is mostly outside of my control.

It makes me afraid of people. Even with all of the love in my heart, I cringe away from those I care about. One day vivacious and alive, the next a dull and empty shell.

I wash my hands compulsively. I cringe away from the sound of people eating. My skin breaks out in sweat when I notice the eyes of strangers LOOKING at me.

I cover myself in heavy layers and I hate, hate, HATE the things other people think of me. With a single look my whole day can be ruined, and I don’t know why my fears affect me so.

My mood shifts and change, taking my personality with it. Open and alive, joyous in every moment. Frenetic energy, destructive need to please. Cold fear and quiet despair, sucked down into the darkest depths of melancholy: Why am I still here?

Each day is an adventure in finding out who I am and who I’m going to be. Happy-go-lucky party girl. Wailing banshee with a mouthful of profanity and rage. Shy introvert struggling to hold on. Or blank automaton sleepwalking through the hours, unable to even care.

I try not to let my mental illness control me, but that’s part of its sick trick. It holds me captive in my own skin, unable and unwilling to ask for the help I need. “I can handle things alone. I don’t need anyone. Today is going to be a good day. I can’t let anyone see what a mess I am. I don’t deserve help anyway.”

* * *

It’s sad, but I can’t trust myself. My own brain fights against me. My moods are a liar.

That said, I love to write. I am filled with stories of other places and people. And as my mood shifts and bends, wonderful characters are created and born.

Would medication take them all away?

I do not trust myself to take care of me. How strange is that? How frightening, to wonder if I will come back to myself and find my life in ruins — it’s happened before, it will happen again. I am an explosion caught in time, already ignited and waiting to burn.

The only thing I have of worth is my words. They’re the only constancy about me, my only means of displaying my love — for life, for me, for you.

And so I write my stories and I send them out into the world. It’s the way I say “I love you. I cherish you. I want you to love me too, just don’t say the words or I will run away.”

Kimichee, AO3, LJ — it makes me happy to post my stories and see them read. Even knowing that I should not give all of myself away for free, I cannot help myself. I love so much with my words. I just want people to see the real me, even if it’s only on occasion, even if it’s only parts of me.

So I write and write, and I share and share. And I’ve accepted that that’s who I’m destined to be.

And I trust myself to all of you. That those who love my words will buy my books even if they can get the words for free.

Because at the end of the day I am only human. And humans need food, water, clean air and sunshine, a place to lay a weary head, clothes and shoes to wear, and the peace of knowing that when I leave with my mind someone will make sure my body does not die.

I cannot trust myself. So I will trust you.

Thank you.

Love,
~ HarperWCK

Hogfather at Amazon
0 comments on "Why can’t I ever win?"

There are times when I have to wonder how my father can be such an idiot. It seems as though he tries his hardest to be the worst kind of parent ever, then he wonders why people get enraged and hateful toward him.

The Kid came back from his father with a laser pointer, something I didn’t like the idea of and disapproved of, but it was something that he had. It was his.

My brother lectured the Kid, my father lectured the Kid, really drawn out and hysterical yammerings about people being blinded by laser pointers and dogs losing their minds and all kinds of drama. And after weeks and weeks of listening to the constant lectures, somewhere in there the laser pointer disappeared and was — for a time — forgotten.

Until today. When the Kid went on a desperate search for it. And unable to find it, he asked my dad if he’d seen it. And my dad admitted that he’d found it in the living room and taken it away. He wasn’t going to give it back because it was too dangerous and the Kid wasn’t responsible enough and… and… and…

By the end of it, I spent the next two hours calming the Kid down and getting equilibrium back in the house, while my dad played on his computer and took a nap. And after it was all done, the Kid had finally let things go and was willing to move on. Things were okay.

By the time 6 pm rolled around, the Kid and I were watching a movie and he was talking to me again. He’d come to accept the fact that the laser pointer was taken away and he wasn’t getting it back. Things were done.

So of course my father had to come out of his computer room with the laser pointer and start talking about “I’m gonna give this back to you on the understanding that you’re going to…” blahdy blahdy blahdy. And I had to step in and say No, don’t give it back. Because I was already tired of the lecturing and the yelling and the general misery of it all.

I didn’t want the Kid to have the laser pointer in the first place. It disappeared and I was relieved. The Kid was angry at me for agreeing with my dad about him not having it, but he’d started to get over it. The decision had been made, he’s a good kid, it was over and done with.

So of course my father had to blow the whole situation up. Because that’s what he does. Whenever things are smoothed over and quiet, he steps in and releases a bomb into the room just because, then retreats back to safety where he doesn’t have to deal with the anger and the tears and the resentment.

And now I’m the bad guy. Again.

Small Gods at Amazon