The truth is: even though i am supposed to be finished my shift at four thirty, i am often there at least an hour, sometimes two, past then (unpaid, by the way). And even if i am off at my designated eight hour mark, i cannot board the skytrain with my bike until after six. And why would i want to? You see, no matter what time i finish up, the thought of climbing into that stuffy transport system where people pretend eachother doesnt exist is depressingly exhaustive. I need to spend a little time outside first, have a little break from the constant feeling of, well, commuting. And so i get home after the time i looked forward to having dinner at.
And then i go for a run. And then i shower. And then, as i am cooking again, i scold myself for not just coming straight home to the stove. It is where i am happiest, and easiest able to unwind anyways, so why the procrastination? No idea. I know my habit is entirely preventable, and horribly unhealthy, and yet night after night, the pans heat up well after they could be.
Another question? Why the pans, why cook at the time of night? why wait another half hour or so for dinner when it could be done in the swipe-swipe two seconds of a peanut butter sandwich? That question i can answer: because i love it. And because my day is spent waiting for it. And because the vegetables in my fridge will go bad if i dont cook them.
So here i am tonight, my screen telling me that it is 10:57 pm. I am just finishing off a pasta of roasted kale with anchovies, shaved sunchoke, beet , fennel and walnut salad, and a chunk of my own baked baguette. Later on yet, i will dessert on the last of the plum cake i made last night, make some tea and plan to, yet again, eat earlier tomorrow. And just as tastily--even half asleep it was great.