Monday, December 7, 2015

Chopping Onions

We didn't fight, exactly - I just said something stupid right after she got home from a stressful day, and she rightly called me out on it and left me in the kitchen cooking dinner.

I was still sort of muttering to myself in that way you do when you know you're in the wrong, but you haven't yet entirely admitted to yourself that you might be the asshole, and I was cutting onions, really strong ones. My eyes were watering as I carefully sliced them into quarters and diced them.

I realized I didn't want to cook our food with anger and make it taste bad, so I breathed deeply and calmed myself and tried to project as much love as possible into the bulgar wheat, the onions and peppers, the avocado, the taco shells, the salsa.

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