depressed but still spicy: “italian triangle pasta”

hello and welcome back 🧚🏼

i’ve truly missed it here.

even though i have an idea of the reason why i continue to neglect writing, i continue to have no idea at all. regardless, here we are again.

writing makes me feel good; like a safe space in my own corner of the universe. yet lately (and for a long while) it has felt like the scariest thing in the world. like many other things that provoke a feeling of fear, it’s human to avoid them. similarly to the way that depression makes me want to avoid the world.

i’ve noticed that lately I make a conscious effort to seldom talk about my feelings. however, i’m re-teaching myself that just because other people may be uncomfortable expressing themselves, it doesn’t mean i have to be. that being said, let’s get into it.

the main theme of this post stands as such:

I’m experiencing a mild depressive episode, i saw some fancy italian triangle pasta [in a compositionally perfect box/bag] at this adorable market and i bought it.

i will say, my main IDEOLOGies when i feel like this lie anywhere between “yes, anything you want baby” and “ok but what if we sleep instead?”

i took a nap after i ate the pasta. best of both worlds.

but let’s backtrack to the process. let me set the scene:

I step out the front door and notice there’s light rain; enough to fill the air with that fresh rain smell but not enough to decide to stay inside. i already have my headphones in, i’m listening to the song radio from “high fidelity” *chef’s magical kiss*. i start walking down the street, i’m wearing baggy clothes; handpicked from the “i thrifted these oversized pieces for when i feel like a literal crumb on the edge of the piece of toast that is life” section of my closet. past destinee knows the vibes, she loves me and looks out for me.

the neon store sign adds color to a primarily grey scene. I step inside, removing my right earbud to be polite as I approach my favorite employee. we banter and laugh just before i walk to the back of the store. there it is.

italian. triangle. noodles.

*i gasp*

i’m kidding, i didn’t. this wasn’t an erotic experience. i’m depressed. lmao. anyway…

i reach for the beautifully composed package, disregarding my historical habit to look at the price first, and simply lean into my genuine interest and desire. I then tuck the package under my arm and circle around the back area, picking up the items i actually came for. satisfied, i make my way to the register. Cool beanie guy asks “would you like a box to carry these in?” to which i respond “yes please and how have you been?”.

cool beanie guy and i are on a first name basis at this point. we’ve talked about art, how we both kinda hate instagram, and where we think we’re at in our lives. it’s a solid, casual, customer-employee relationship but with more sunshine. i admire him in the most wholesome way and to preserve that in my little corner of the universe, he shall remain nameless. anyway, he finishes packing my groceries into the box and we say our “see you LATER’s”.

about four hours after i went home, i made my way to the kitchen and started preparing the pasta.

see figure a.

figure a.

i mean… they’re beautiful. I truly thought I had tried all the pasta shapes there were. but no. triangle pasta has entered the chat and like the casual interactions between cool beanie guy and i; they held more sunshine (this day). buying the pasta was the most notable thing i did that whole day.

while i acknowledge the perfectionist part of my brain doesn’t love that i wasn’t more productive and didn’t wake up at 8 am instead of 11am. i realize that there are times i need to honor the energy (or lack of) i have on a given day when i feel like ~shit~.

so yeah. i will buy fancy pasta, binge watch the o.g. degrassi (aubrey graham a.k.a jimmy a.k.a drake has me in a chokehold) while texting my sister about how much paige bothers me, cry in the shower, listen to a playlist that makes me more sad but feels relieving all at the same time, ignore texts, and cancel plans. all in an effort to self soothe because if I’m being honest, i’m awful at sending “can you come over?” texts.

occasionally i’ll work up enough courage to do it. majority of the time it’s the “I’m sorry but-…” replies and those sting a whole lot more than just working through it alone. i don’t really blame others for it. it’s easier to send off a text than to come over and comfort someone while they cry or offer a listening ear with a readiness to hear whatever answer they give.

i understand that people have lives just as complex as mine. i think sometimes i just wish i was cared for in a more obvious way. it’s not that i don’t think people care, i just honestly can’t always feel it.

it’s exhausting to always be defined as someone who’s strong, or bubbly, or lighthearted, and positive. i don’t always feel like that, i can’t always be that. so i won’t be. just for that day.

and then,

i’ll start over tomorrow.

it’s okay to just start over tomorrow. i think because of how fast the world can seem to be moving around us, we forget that it’s okay and often necessary to slow down and honor ourselves when we have the opportunity and/or need for it.

goodnight 🌙

xx, -des