There is a new TV show, piloting tonight, called “Suburgatory”?! On ABC? About moving to the suburbs! I swear, I didn’t know anything about this show and I have been saying “suburban purgatory” for years.

Well, there goes my comment about valuing the originality of my writing voice and having a unique, recognizable tone. Faster than the Speed of Love, it is…

But my real sneaky purpose of this post is just to highlight an AIDS-fighting grantmaking foundation that resonates with me personally: the Mercury Phoenix Trust, established in honor of Freddie Mercury. He died almost 20 years ago of AIDS-related complications, and while we’re a lot further along in the fight for eradication than we were in 1992 I don’t believe another talent, great or small, should be lost to the world because of a preventable (and treatable) disease. It’s just a disease caused by a virus, people, and sweeping it under the rug will cost us a lot more Freddies.

www.mercuryphoenixtrust.com
www.clintonfoundation.org

Wine, asparagus, arborio rice, and mushrooms getting ready to party!

Start with 8-10 baby bellas, stems removed. Quarter them and start sauteeing them over a medium heat in 2T or so of butter, making sure they are nicely spaced out so they can sear rather than steam. See Julia Child’s boeuf Bourgignon for the technique. Go ahead and trim a pound of asparagus to about 4″ spears– discard the woody stems or save, if they’re skinny and tender, for soup or quiche. Toss those mushrooms around a little bit and continue sauteeing until the mushrooms smell delicious and the exteriors are tight and browned all around. They shouldn’t look wet. Then toss them on a plate.

Throw the asparagus tips in the pan with another tablespoon of asparagus. After stirring this around, you may want to add the lid; the thicker the asparagus, the more you will want to add steam. Cook just until heated through. Don’t let them get wilted or grey! Remove and place next to your shrooms.

Pour yourself an oversized glass of white wine. I like to use a big, yet dry verdejo blend from Spain with some age on it (2008); these can be had for about $15, stand up to the smokiness of the Pecorino Romano that’s coming and the distinct grassiness of asparagus, and they also taste good on their own as well as in the dish. You can also use pinot grigio, sauvignon blanc, or any dry white– even dry sparkling. Avoid American Chardonnays and sweet Rieslings and Muscatos, please.

Take 1/2 to 3/4 pound peeled, deveined shrimp (tails are up to you) and sprinkle both sides with a tiny pinch of flour and a healthy coat of Old Bay. Throw a tablespoon of butter in that pan for good measure and a turn of olive oil; place the shrimp in the pan with room between each shrimp. While shrimp cook, place 4-5 cups fish stock in a pot to simmer. Chicken stock works in a pinch, because the flavors are so bold. Flip the shrimp with tongs; use the lid, tilted partway off, to keep the shrimp a little moist while cooking. Remove shrimp from pan.

Deglaze the pan with a splash of the broth and a splash from that glass of wine. Scrape with a wooden spatula while you simmer until the bottom of the pan is clean; pour off the pan into your simmering cauldron of fish stock.

Re-heat dry, clean pan to medium heat; smear a smidge of butter (teaspoon should be adequate) along the bottom. Add two crushed, chopped cloves of garlic (skins removed) and stir; add a little more than a cup of arborio rice. Occasionally toss the rice around in the pan until the kitchen smells garlicky and the rice has taken on a nice toasty color (5-7 minutes).

Throw that glass of wine you’ve been drinking (should be 5-7 oz left) into the pan. It will steam and start boiling the rice; stir once and allow to simmer down. Pour yourself a new glass of wine. Now comes the tricky part: Technique. As the rice cooks, you will need to drag a wooden spoon through almost as though deglazing the pan. You will add more liquid when a spatula dragged reveals sticky rice with a creamy substance around the bottom of the pan and on the grains. Adding liquid a little bit at a time is what gives risotto its richness, not cream or sauce. This typically takes 20-30 minutes.

Every time that dragged spatula separates the rice and leaves an empty streak in the pan that is slowly being encroached upon by creamy goodness, throw in 3/4 cup of the simmering stock. Stir and let it stand. Taste rice occasionally. When you think you’ll only need to add another cup because OMG, the little rice grains are getting fat!, and almost taste done, throw in 1/2 cup chopped Italian parsley. Also throw in your plate full of shrimp, asparagus, and mushrooms, and the last dose of broth. Give it a stir and put the lid on. Stir it again and make sure your rice isn’t raw in the middle– crunch. Crack on some black pepper and add a swirl of kosher salt.

Pour risotto into a big serving bowl. The test of perfect risotto is supposedly when you can spoon it into a bowl, give the bowl a gentle shake, and the risotto settles out of a mound and into a creamy pool. It should jiggle more easily than good mashed potatoes and less easily than pudding. Shred 1/4 cup Pecorino Romano overtop and jiggle the bowl again.

Prepare for marriage proposals from roommates, significant others, and mailmen (only if cooked at lunch).

This blogger really has a talent for reflecting on experiences from ridiculous, abject despair and spiraling depression to consuming, childlike desire (for cake). The posts are unapologetically flavored by what I can only hope are Brosh’s own outsize personality traits and her keen ability to evaluate and, sometimes, make light of her own emotional experiences… a must-read! My favorite post, thus far? “This is Why I’ll Never be an Adult.” It’s so refreshing to see that somebody else experiences the same crazy, funny thoughts even during the spirals and waves of progress. And it’s a delight to hear Brosh tell the story.

So, it delighted me to hear that a phrase I frequently use to describe the period of my life spent living in Montgomery County actually caught a friend’s attention. I refer to life here as “suburban purgatory,” because that’s exactly what it feels like to me. When I was a kid sitting in Catholic Sunday school classes, I found the concept of purgatory fascinating and even more terrifying than eternal Hell. Purgatory is profound absence. Consider the absence of heaven, the absence of judgment– from that viewpoint, even the sentence of Hell seemed preferable to the abandonment of purgatory. My little mind filed purgatory alongside horrifying conditions such as amnesia. This place, to me, is purgatory– a place to go to rot, to be forgotten. A place to go where identity and thought are much worse than judged– they’re disregarded.

I know a lot of people feel like this is the best place on Earth to raise 2.5 kids behind a white picket fence while pursuing a lucrative career, but I’m telling you… I can’t stand it here. I feel like I’m standing at the crossroads of living outside one’s means and conspicuous consumption– and worse, I’m the only one who notices. I live in a region filled with stagnant wages, utter economic dependence upon federal dollars for job creation, insanely overblown housing values (yes, even after the bubble), and people who would rather overextend themselves in order to keep up appearances than risk not fitting in by confronting their own best interests. Too many of my neighbors, coworkers and acquaintances are the poster children for keeping up with the Joneses.

When I realized that my own life was becoming oriented towards pursuing external goals I’d been told I should desire instead of towards the aggressive pursuit of personal fulfillment, well… I completely freaked out and became disgusted with what I saw in the mirror. And it only took 18 months. I thought to myself, Holy shit. I took passionate, driven Kim and stuck her in suburban purgatory. I simply am not built to push aside my own dreams to fit a broader definition of success or achievement. So many people in this area seem primed to do just that, that I feel like an alien.

I work in a bar. And tonight I closed that bar, while listening to one of my fellow bartenders discussing how they wouldn’t dare lay their hands on a Japanese import because (without a sense of irony): “My entire family drives M class.” My gut reaction to this was to slap my own hand over my mouth to avoid saying: “Come the fuck on.” Instead, I got in my 15-year-old Jetta– which is a car that I adore, because it is 100% paid for and is appropriate for somebody who works for gratuities and is going back to school– and drove home. My financial life is admittedly much less than perfect, but I can’t imagine having my head that far in the clouds. To say I fail to connect here, where even restaurant staff can’t get their heads around a little humility in automotive choice, is a gross understatement.

Frankly, I deeply do not want to own a million-dollar house that affords both poor insulation and the ability to see into my neighbors’ windows. I also don’t want to achieve financial stability just so that I can see onto the next plateau of nouveau wealth and double-mortgage all my shit to get there. I don’t want to marry somebody who looks good on paper and I don’t want to pop out kids with him and helicopter parent them my whole life. The thought of that lifestyle, frankly, nauseates me. And this makes me a very, very poor fit for life in Montgomery County. I am a slow, passionate burner of a person. And I grow more certain every day that if I stay here my own heat will consume me.

I gotta get out of suburban purgatory. I would much rather live in the fire.

Also, they covered “Call Tyrone” by Erykah Badu and I think they’re buddies with her too. Infinite cool points.

After I stopped taking Strattera, I started taking a few herbal supplements and continued trying to change around my life. They worked out great– when I remembered to take them. It turns out that, although I felt like myself on the medication and felt that accomplishing tasks was straightforward and easy, I only felt like that… you guessed it… because of the medication! Even the low dose I was taking had a marked effect on my ability to focus in the long term and manage projects. So, after observing myself on it and observing myself off it– and thoroughly assessing my goals– I decided to give it another go.

I didn’t take my Strattera today, and I am writing this in a moment where the haze has parted somewhat. Because I was stressed out and because I had some wine last night, I didn’t think my stomach could take the medicine today. I still struggle with the side effect of nausea if I don’t time up my food, hydration, and Strattera exactly right. But boy, does it work. This time around is much better. I started with a very low dose that gradually increased over a month’s time, which is how I should have done it all along. I can now see the improvement in my ability to “think in a straight line,” if you will. Funnily enough, plenty of people try to break free of linear thinking; I’m amazed at how fast I can get my bills paid and respond to all of my mail if I can do it for a couple of hours.

It is very tough to admit that you’re not perfect; to admit that this machinery of body & mind is not perfect, and that mine might need some very real chemical intervention in order to do the things I want it to do, is jarring. I suspect most people readily use the cliche “I’m not perfect,” but nobody wants to sit and itemize their flaws. I need to confront mine fearlessly if I am going to eventually get into and succeed in law school. My biggest flaw? I have a procrastination problem. I’d like to use medication long enough to re-learn habits and retrain my brain so it works like it ought to. Unfortunately that’s not going to happen in a couple of months, and now– applying to schools and trying to move– is not the time to do it anyway.

So, back on Strattera. It’s $200 a month and necessitates certain lifestyle changes, such as more or less cutting out alcohol (saves money, ruins happy hours)… and eating ice cream to keep my weight from dropping (that’s just a terrible side effect). Sometimes I’m afraid it’ll tamper with my imaginative nature or alter my sense of self, but I think those fears are unfounded. I’m committing to take it for a full year– and, on my 28th birthday, we’ll reassess. Cheers!

Second, I sometimes struggle with the idea that people I am not crazy about reading my blog are, well, reading it. Sometimes picking it apart. We’re talking crazy exes and stalky bar patrons, for starters. This can cause me to edit my thoughts or, more often, to censor myself altogether because the potential repercussions of putting my uncensored opinion into the public sphere are sometimes exhausting to consider. Well, I decided that’s horseshit. My best writing is the writing I don’t apologize for, and I’m sure as hell not apologizing to you, my solitary internet reader. On that note, the prompt:

What is it about the movie “Kill Bill” that I find so inspiring? Why does it motivate me? What lessons, mantras, or positive habits can I take away from the film?

In my quest to develop internal motivation and mental structure, I frequently channel Beatrix Kiddo. There is an index card pinned to my bulletin board, directly in my line of sight when I’m sitting at my desk, that simply reads “wiggle your big toe.” On its surface, this quote is a distillation of the maxim “the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” It is a reminder to me that I must take my projects one day at a time, that all accomplishing my ambitions really requires is a series of small and manageable moves. One toe wiggle at a time.

Beyond that, however, I do have a borderline-unhealthy fascination with Kill Bill. I would say that Beatrix Kiddo is one of my literary/cinematic heroes. Obviously this is because she is a total bad ass. But what attributes make her so bad ass that I find her to be inspiring? It’s not that she jumps motorcycles or is a samurai (though that’s pretty kick ass too). A list:

1) She has a plan.  Beatrix Kiddo wakes up from that coma and she has a goal: Kill Bill. On the plane to Okinawa, however, she develops a plan. She’s going to need a Hanzo sword. She’s going to have to kill a lot of people to get through to Bill. So what does Beatrix do? She makes a death list, gets Hanzo to forge her a sword, and finds her enemies. Beatrix has a plan. This is a common “quest” structure to a kung fu movie, but it’s inspiring to me as a person who struggles with breaking down one major goal into a series of small, and sometimes daunting, tasks. First, get a plan.

2) Unflinching resolve.  In Okinawa, Beatrix finds and confronts her first enemy– O-ren Ishi’i. O-ren, knowing that Beatrix is a formidable fighter and is extremely pissed off, sends a team of bodyguards, then a team of assassins, then a personal fighter to weaken Beatrix. After the initial onslaught of bodyguards has been decimated, O-ren says to Beatrix: “You didn’t really think it would be that easy, did you?” To which Beatrix replies: “You know something? For a minute there, yeah. I kinda did.”

I have said this before. But I have also been afraid of finishing or failing at my task, and have quit. What does Beatrix do? She sighs, lifts her sword, and continues kicking ass. By the time she gets O-ren alone in the yard her strength is completely sapped. But she doesn’t give in: She tells O-ren: “Come at me with everything you have.”  And you know what Beatrix does? Scalps her. That’s resolve.

When Beatrix is alone in the desert at Budd’s trailer, after snatching out the other eye of her nemesis the California Mountain Snake, she doesn’t get distracted by the million dollars of cash on the trailer floor, the ‘72 Firebird out front, or the priceless Hanzo sword sticking out of Budd’s golf bag. She has a mission here, and she doesn’t get distracted. That lack of distraction also inspires me. Beatrix really, really wants Bill. Not a sportscar, money, toys, or revenge on incidental others. She is focused on her end goal. Not even being buried alive gets the best of Beatrix Kiddo.

3) Commitment to her craft.  Beatrix is an elite fighter, but she is also a member of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad. She is one of several similarly trained elite fighters. Beatrix knows that if she is going to succeed in her quest, she needs to be the best– better than anyone else she encounters– at kicking ass. Even while crossing off her list, she continues to mentally and physically prepare for battle. While her Hanzo sword is being forged, she trains. While she is sitting on the airplane, she’s scheming. Anytime she interacts with someone potentially useful, she turns the interaction to her advantage. She is only able to even find Bill because of her ninja skill of always being open to and aware of additional information that may change her situation.

So what if Bill shoots her in the leg with some kind of truth serum after ambushing her with the fact that her daughter is still alive, and sleeping in the next room? He’s still going to fight back and she still has got to get ready. Boom. Five-point palm exploding heart technique. Why does she know that technique? Because she studied and worked under her teacher until he taught her something extra, an advantage he gave nobody else. Her commitment paid off. And that additional training saved her ass and, ultimately, allowed her to achieve her goal. When she learned the technique, she had no idea how she would use it. But she did know it was in her interest to acquire as much expertise as possible.

Of course, the film also has a happy ending. Beatrix finishes her project; she has her revenge. It turns out that she has her daughter, too– an impossibly happy turn of events that she was not striving for, but for which she is immensely grateful. This warms my heart. I like the idea that someday, I might achieve a goal and the payoff would be even bigger than I had imagined. That the prize might not just be crossing off my list, but winning something greater that I can appreciate all the more for the struggle it took to get there.

So yes, it is a little ridiculous that I sometimes consider getting a little tattoo that reads “wiggle your big toe” on the side of my foot. Hopefully, nobody is going to shoot me in the head and snatch up my kid. But the inspiration I get from Beatrix Kiddo remains: Break that shit down into some projects you can actually handle. Don’t flake out halfway through because you’re getting your ass kicked and it hurts. Decide you’re going to not only complete your task, but absolutely crush at what you’re doing– otherwise, why bother?

Strattera, originally manufactured as a selective norepenephrine reuptake inhibitor that would produce antidepressant effects, failed as an alternative to SSRI drugs. But clinical testing did reveal potential as a drug to treat ADHD, and more specifically the newly-identified executive functioning disorder. That’s the closest name, thus far, for the way my mind works– all the parts are in place, and I can focus just fine on a short-term event like reading a book… but a director, if you will, of my mind’s activity is absent.

This appears to outsiders as a lack of initiative or of motivation, but it’s something entirely different inside the human mind. It’s closer to an intense fear of failure than it is to laziness. That cocktail of procrastination and avoidance means tasks remain unfinished, deadlines are blown off, and life runs you– instead of the other way around. That’s a shortened version of how my mind’s been working now for 26 years. Oops.

Strattera, with its mild off-label antidepressant effects as a side perk, seemed like the perfect solution to my ADHD-related symptoms which were coupled with– and complicated by– situational depression. And the energy levels and ability to focus which the drug produced did help me to break the cycle of avoidance and panic I was living. That cycle’s alternative is the ability to pace and execute tasks– an ability that many take for granted, but which was foreign to me. It was the side effects, however, that forced me to stop taking Strattera. I was a week into treatment when I first experienced “sudden onset nausea”– and believe me, it’s exactly what it sounds like. Chatting away with a customer, and BOOM! excuse me, I have to hurl into the trash can. It also made me dizzy and sweaty if I didn’t eat a huge meal while taking it, and came with dangerous and intense side effects if you popped a beer or a Benadryl during treatment. I literally blacked out a few times after having a glass of wine or not eating enough, and no amount of attempting to focus could rouse me– had I been driving, I would have died.

Despite the side effects, I took Strattera for three months before the side effects thoroughly outweighed the drug’s perks. But during that time, I saw a crack in the door and a sliver of light behind it. For the first time in years, I was able to formulate a plan and complete it, step by step– another small-sounding but life-changing skill for me.

In February, I switched to a cocktail of rhodiola (a Siberian herb supplement touted for its focusing and energizing effects) and B-12/niacin tablets. So far? I feel like myself for the first time in years. And I was able to execute my Strattera-concieved plan, which was to purchase a car (after much deliberation). The car, what a debacle! First I wanted a new car from a dealership, then a used car, and wound up with something in the middle– a used Jetta with an impeccable record. It’s a one-in-a-million find, to me, because: 1) I found it; 2) I bought it outright, cash, which marks the first time in 26 years I’ve had the discipline to achieve such a simple-sounding goal; and 3) I deliberated on it without freaking out and made what I believe is the correct choice.

I’m proud of my little Jetta. I’m proud of my bank account balance. How many people have to look at themselves at 26, feeling completely alone in the world with nothing to their names, and say: “I am bad at managing money. I screw up relationships. I let opportunities pass me by because I am too afraid to act.”?

Yes, I went shopping this weekend and bought a pair of designer jeans and a Michael Kors dress. Yes, I am installing a car stereo in my little Jetta that I could probably do without. But in the last few months I’ve also found the courage to move back to Baltimore now instead of after I meet a checklist of other life goals– a level of independence and trust in myself that I didn’t have six months ago– and I’ve also found enough trust in myself to execute a couple of plans. Plans that, before, I would have sketched out meticulously and then filed in a folder under “someday.” My concrete plans include paying down annoying debts and fixing my credit score. Moving back to Baltimore, in a few weeks instead of a few years. Maybe even law school, unless I find a master’s program that will allow me to do something I really love.

In short, I’m living again. After battling a level of depression I didn’t know I was even dealing with, discovering that my brain absolutely does not work the way I thought it did, and going through the most painful breakup and traumatic mistake I have ever made, and hope I will ever make– a feeling of achievement. A feeling of being the me I’ve always said I am: Self-assured and self-sufficient.

This is the first little gold star of achievement I have felt since graduating college in  2006. And you know what? It feels damn good.

I’ve been stripping away parts of my life– good ones and bad ones, and to my benefit and very much to my own detriment– in order to get to the bottom of something. That something is the question, why am I not making moves? Through all this stripping away, I expected to uncover my motivation. Either some little scrap of inspiration that I could rub my thumb against like a worry stone and turn into productivity, or a magic bullet of procrastination and indecision that had lodged itself deep in my ribcage, miraculously shy of my heart.

Neither of these has been the case; unfortunately, as I only now see must often happen during such journeys of self-discovery, I have continued to find more and more questions. I am a bottomless well of indecision, it turns out, so it’s very convenient for me to have the excuse of journeying. I can chase and follow and pull those threaded questions to what I claim as their eventual conclusion, when in fact they don’t conclude. Questions such as “why have I lost my motivation?” don’t seem to have conclusions, at least not for me. They are just “oubliettes”– places to get lost forever, if I indulge myself.

I have grown so very tired of trying to figure out why I lack discipline and motivation when I ought to be manifesting it, culturing it, finding it. My tendency to mentally wander is more than just a dalliance, it’s an undertow that’s gradually pulling the very surface of my life into a hopeless ripple. It has an entropic effect, sending pieces of my life into endless slow-motion drift as I try to gather the energy and motivation to try to gather the pieces. In fact, I’ve reached a point where I will literally allow life– big, sweeping, unchangeable life– to happen to me rather than make a decision that has consequences and then follow through with it. And that’s just not my style.

The bottom line is, trying to figure this out as though it’s some kind of mental puzzle I can solve with a self-help book or a new calendar or a day of meditation isn’t working; it’s wasting time. On Wednesday, I’m trying a new approach; I’m going to see my physician and ask her for a diagnosis of and prescription for ADHD. It’s a diagnosis I’ve resisted for years, and a move nobody probably expects given my aversion to medication, but it’s also a step I haven’t taken. My rather fruitless attempts over the last few years, and especially over the last six months, to make changes when I desperately needed to do so have fallen short. Beyond that, they’ve often failed to achieve takeoff. So it’s time I listened to someone else’s idea, and right now I’m finally willing to listen to the idea that my brain’s wiring needs a little more help than just charts and time at my desk; it needs help in the pilot department. If taking some medication– short- or long-term– helps me to develop some discipline, I’m open to it. We shall see.