Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update

It Isn’t the Same

Once more I found myself uncertain of what I wanted to write about this week, and I still don’t think I have a full grasp on it yet, but we’ll try it out and see how far we go. I’ve been thinking a lot about self-worth and self-image and before you tune me out and say “this ain’t a self-help blog,” I know. And I know I’ve talked about this kind of stuff before on this blog, but I gotta just put my thoughts down here.

It’s an interesting thing nowadays, where we have the socialization on the internet. Complete strangers read what I write and sometimes click a button showing they enjoyed what I had to say. “Back in my day,” I say like I’m wise enough to, we didn’t have the luxury of tucking ourselves behind a digital screen to consider ourselves social. It might be a leap to call social media “socializing,” but I’ve witnessed friends end friendships on Facebook over something someone said, and that’s just as real life as anything else. Sure, it may not be fisticuffs in the parking lot after work or anything, but the way people take certain things seriously online these days is wild to me.

I guess that’s where I question why I do this blog. I appreciate that I have a goal to maintain it and keep it going because it’s very much for me more than it is for anything else. I do appreciate those of you who read this and continue to read it, but I don’t know. I’m not quitting, just pondering the efficacy of such a life. Where validation has become external and internalizing that sounds like a foreign concept.

I’ve always thought I had a deep self hatred–which I do–but it’s not every day that I think I’m garbage. It’s only when something I perceive as significant happens that I tend to spiral into a thought loop of hate and “you’re not worth the effort.” Now, let me clarify by what I mean when I say something I perceive as significant, because there have been times where I’ve felt something pretty powerful about the way I’ve been treated, and the person (or persons) who did the thing to me don’t see it the way I do. A wise friend of mine once told me to make sure I was telling the right story to myself to see if how I was reacting was accurate or if it was what I thought I should be feeling. Because of that, I’ve grown a lot in my perception of how I respond to things.

But what I’m talking about, the significant thing, I mean something like a personal failure. I’ve been trying to get in the habit of regularly walking/jogging with one of my best friends after work (our parking lot allows for such a side quest), and my gut reaction most of the time is “another day,” or “next week will be better.” I posted about the book The Power of Habit on here recently, and one of the things the author brings up as a key force in changing habit is the power of belief in that change. I go into full panic mode when change happens. I don’t do well with it, not even slightly. Even if it’s positive. The reason being is I don’t have the core belief that I am capable of being who I want to be.

Do you know how heartbreaking that is to realize? My niece, who’s 2 1/2 ish years old, adores me and she knows I am so full of love for her. She doesn’t know how little I care about myself. Mainly because that part of me doesn’t exist when I’m around her. She deserves the best the world can give her.

But so do I. I’m not good at this. Where I confront myself and try to see a way around the problem until I can fix it properly. Because it bubbles up and turns into days where my throat hurts because I’ve been holding back tears. Self pity is one thing, but knowing the way you feel about yourself isn’t good is a completely different thing. It gets tricky when you try to change that because if you’re like me, you have almost two decades of practice throwing yourself to the proverbial wolves and hoping you make it out the other side. I know I’ve said this before, but I don’t tell people that mental illness gets better, because it doesn’t really. You find ways to carry it differently, so your neural patterns go a different way when certain things happen. The change bit there is almost subconsciously done because we tend to shy away from discomfort.

I’m not sure if this all makes sense, or even if it flows well. I don’t think I’ve said all I wanted to, but I don’t know how to express that at the moment. This weekend I’m being gentle with myself and telling myself it’s okay to skip mowing the lawn because the bees need the clover. I hope you’re well, and I hope you have a pleasant weekend. You are worthy of good things, and it’s not a problem if you take time for yourself.

Until next time, friends.

Salisbury.Fake writing

From My Journal – Character Sketch

This week, we’re going into my world building journal and taking a look at the main character of my Maker trilogy, Frankie. There are a lot of traits in her that I have myself, but that’s the truth of almost all writers. Injection of our best and worst qualities feels like the thing one does when one tells stories.

Brangienne “Frankie” Frankovitch

  • Born September 12th, at the time of the story, she is 25 years old.
  • 5’7″
  • Brown eyes
  • Black hair (long, almost to her hips, impossibly curly, usually worn in a braid)
  • Average weight, about 132 pounds
  • Daughter of Zelda Frankovitch
  • Sister to Serena Shorn

Frankie is from Lowell, KY. She lived with her mother for a few years after high school when she’d saved up for a down payment on a house. Now she lives on her own on the south side of town. A friend from high school, Sam Wiseman, returns from a military tour or two and needs a place to live. Frankie offers him a room. She helps him get a job at the grocery store where she works.

She is close to her mother, not so much her sister. They have Sunday dinners, along with Logan, her brother-in-law. These dinners are often emotionally explosive between Serena and Zelda. Such a contentious life and relationship makes the sisters sometimes seem like enemies. As such, they see each other infrequently.

Frankie is not an overly loud person. She tends to keep to herself. She isn’t anti-social, simply prefers to remain alone. She has a very dry sense of humor and often finds terrible jokes to pass to Sam while they’re supposed to be working. She is loyal almost to a fault. Once her opinion of someone is formed, she takes a lot of convincing to believe otherwise–both in a positive and negative way.

She is frugal only because she doesn’t want to buy needlessly. Her most frivolous purchase was a television. She thinks Cottonelle toilet paper is a luxury. She tries not to buy anything sold in plastic, but living the way she does is good only if she can be consistent, something Kentucky isn’t known for–at least not in Lowell. The only thing consistent about Lowell is everyone is privy to your business regardless of if you want them to be.

Frankie does not believe in God. She does not lose sleep over this. As of this writing Frankie is scared of nothing. Of course this changes when she witnesses a murder of someone close to her. Her mother. She loses sight of good things for a while, which adds yet another layer of what she has to do in The Keeper of Time.

Alongside her fierce loyalty is her ability to remain emotionally detached from situations and people. Even when she learns who her father is, she struggles to feel much of anything. Granted, she learns this right at the same time her mother is killed, so people tend to think she’s stuck in some kind of emotional limbo. She loves deeply despite her lack of attachment. Almost like it’s real if Frankie feels it.

She loves the color blue, and hydrangeas are her favorite flower.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update

Sunshine and Reminiscing

lemon poppy seed pancakes because spring and sunshine and lemons!

You know what’s really wild to me? Ten years ago, I never would have been able to understand my life as it is now. I graduated college (in December, but still). I also hit the lowest point I’d ever been in my life ten years ago, and events unfolded that will impact me forever.

I don’t really have much to say today other than it’s been almost a year since I signed my mortgage papers and I have no idea how to tell you how blown my mind is by that. Moral of the story, I guess, don’t give up on yourself when times are really rough. It’ll come together someday. It might take ten years. It might take twenty or more. But you owe it to yourself to find out.

Until next time, friends: you are everything you need for your own happiness.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update

Sunday Chat #2

I was going to do another How I Write today, but I’m not feeling it. I’m not sure what I’m feeling, to be honest. I wasn’t going to post today, but my goal this year is to post every week, and with the exception of maybe one week, I’ve done that. So today might just be a quick blarp into the universe about how it’s all right to have off days or something.

I try to put positivity into the world because there’s just so much negative nonsense going on, but it’s exhausting at times to be the bubble. I feel like that sounds a bit boo hoo Belinda, but really. I’m not always excited about life. There are more than doldrums that bog my joy down, and while I don’t always feel like talking about it, I think it’s important not to stifle those moments when they come. I tell people to let themselves feel what they feel, and yet when it comes to myself I tend to be really harsh and deny myself the advice I give others. I know this is not new to the world. This behavior is not unique to me.

But there’s a loneliness in it. There’s an emptiness that threatens to turn bitter like the aftertaste of an artificial sweetener. What you think is familiar is actually damaging more than you let yourself think. Wallowing is different than steeping, and I feel as long as I’m wallowing, I’ll be salvageable.

I’m going to go get some work done around the house, and I’m going to remember it’s okay to feel like an oversteamed potato every once in a while. The key to it is to remember to come back. Not to let it take root in your mind and become a gnarled mess you have to untangle later, when it’s worse.

With that said, here’s a photo of some fake flowers I bought myself yesterday because I had rewards points and I wanted to get myself something pretty.

Until next time, friends
Salisbury.Fake Life

You Don’t Have To Be Alone To Be Lonely

This one’s going to be a ramble, probably. I know, so surprising.

We’re going to talk about loneliness. Sort of. We’re going to talk about how it’s okay to take time to get to know ourselves and forget about being with other people because we deserve to like who we are.

I seriously hate how self-help-y that sounds. But hear me out. I spent the last two decades learning how to hate myself. Acted on it in various ways I won’t talk about in this post (I’ve discussed it before elsewhere), but it all boiled down to the thought that I’m just average/mediocre/run of the mill not worth anyone’s time. Kept me going for a long time. Or so I thought. What it really did was give me a chronic back ache because I hold my tension in my shoulders and my lower back. Makes aerobics fun.

But what’s the point of this? Let’s focus, Carla. I’ve seen some posts recently from some of my favorite content creators who talked about how they were using this quarantine time to get to know themselves a little better, and I suppose I have, too, and I need to tell you it is

u n c o m f y

Seeing how I’ve spoken to myself for the last half of my life really kind of broke my heart. Surprised me. Kind of like looking in the mirror and noticing you had peanut butter on your face all day. “I really let myself do that?”

But it hasn’t been peanut butter. It’s been self-dragging, self-loathing on a level that is kind of destructive, and just ignoring all the people telling me I’m not trash. “Thank you, but I am. It’s fine. I’ve always been this way.”

I haven’t.

We can try and pinpoint where it all started to go in a direction we didn’t think it should, but that is like trying to pick a watermelon seed out of a pile of watermelon seeds. I’d say a needle in a needlestack, but that’s not accurate enough. You can eventually find the needle you want if you search hard enough for the specific characteristics (size of the eye, length, sharp or not, blah blah blah), but watermelon seeds all look like watermelon seeds. They slip away every time you try to take one off the plate, and then you’re left with chasing it around.

The point of all of this rambling is it’s time we started being okay with being alone. I’m not talking about introverted alone, where one recharges after having social time with people. That’s a different kind of being alone. I’m talking about getting to know ourselves and seeing we’re not actually gum on the bottom of a shoe in summer. We are the kid who has the pool so all the parties are at our house. We have what everyone wants. We are admirable. We are strong, capable, and worthy of taking the time to learn how to believe that.

I say all of this knowing I’m going to ignore it like I always have, but the difference is I’ll know I’m ignoring it. Before, I would be all self-help-y and it would be for others. This one is for me. This time I know I’m ignoring good advice from myself, so it’s easier to hold myself accountable. And that is the key. Holding ourselves accountable for the goals we want to achieve and learning the difference between discouragement and destruction. Change is excruciating. It really is. I fucking hate change. I don’t really like swearing on these things, but this requires one. It’s that awful for me. So telling myself to stop calling myself garbage is like when your teacher tells the class, “no notes on this quiz, folks,” and turns around to do work on the computer so everyone uses notes anyway.

What a crock, huh? It feels like that, here at the bottom of this. But it isn’t a crock. It’s a truth I’ve been trying to learn, that I am worth my own time, and I want the people I care about to know it for themselves, too. I don’t know that many will read this, but I hope it helps someone. Maybe someone looking for a sign to start working on themselves.

Be safe as you can be in these weird, awful times. And remember: you are worth your own time. I promise.

Salisbury.Fake Life, writing

Romance Novels are Dangerous

Bear with me. I’m not about to go trashing a genre that makes billions of dollars. Very clearly it’s a market people want and are all about. But I do want to discuss it a bit.

Let’s take a moment and think about what romance novels are at their core. They’re meant to be distractions. Fantasies about what we want, or think we want. There’s lust. Not a lot of actual romance before we get to the end, and somehow the main characters are in love and ready for their future together. It’s one of those things where we expect to be entertained without going too far into why we’re entertained. It’s time to break into that a bit.

My biggest issue is that the genre presents lust as love, without considering the impact of leaving out the love that gets left behind. Potentially. We don’t really get to see much of that past a happy ending. It’s all wrapped up. Nice little package. But love isn’t always happy. And I’m not talking about the overly drawn out dramatic confrontation that comes right before one of the protagonists realizes that the other is all they’ve ever needed in love. I’m talking about the fact that eventually the quirks that draw you into a partner sometimes might become annoying and not so cute anymore. The nights when trying to be a household feels like an impossibility because you’ve got your own habits, and they have theirs.

Romance novels all have the same basic plot, too, in what I’ve seen from the ten I read in preparation for this post. Boy and girl meet, have a spark, they can’t stop thinking about each other, there’s something holding one of them back from fully accepting feelings, they have wild sex multiple times, one thinks they’re not good enough somehow for the other, big dramatic event happens, the one who tried to leave realizes just how much they love the other, rush to find them/save them/tell them, they get married, and the woman is usually pregnant by the end of the story.

This isn’t a bad plot. But after reading so many in a row, it got tedious. The man is usually incredibly wealthy, completely ripped and fit, handsome as hell, and a loner of some sort. Bad boys are even better. The women are curvy in the right places, but still manage to have a trim waist. Long hair with perfect waves. Career or family driven, never both (there was one rare exception I read), weeps beautifully. The standard impossible people. Some of the main character traits for the men were a bit disturbing. The women consumed their every thought and lives until it was all they could do not to see them. I know the feeling of being in love for the first time with someone and it’s rather difficult to tear one’s mind away from a new love, but the level of . . . intensity and dedication was borderline obsessive. They were overly protective, actively committing violence against a perceived threat to the woman they claimed to love. Jealous. Almost abusive.

The women are typically submissive, even when they’re described as being take charge and full of vivacity. They’re still dominated by the men in the stories, which tells me there’s not much originality in the thought that goes into these things. They’re also consumed by the thought of the man, usually after they’ve had wild sex that stays on their mind for a few days until they can do it again. They snap at the characters around them until one of their friends says something like, “you haven’t been yourself lately, what’s up with that??” and there’s a realization that the woman is in love. But she can’t be in love! They only just met! How could she possibly have feelings for someone she just met? /sarcasm

The level of superficiality in most of these relationships is incredibly off putting to me. There’s not much substance to back up the supposed feelings of the characters. The chemistry they’re meant to have just doesn’t exist. Typical story: they’ve known each other for years, haven’t ever done anything about it, friends pit them together and suddenly they realize they’ve been lacking for seventy years.

What I want from romance novels is reality. I know that doesn’t sell, and maybe I’m an outlier here, but what good are these novels if they perpetuate problems? Women are the main target audience for these (I unfortunately don’t have enough experience reading any LGBTQ+ romance to have an opinion on this, especially when there are others who are much more capable of discussing that topic), and while I appreciate the attempt to have books designed specifically with women in mind, it makes me question what the actual gain is here, and what authors believe women really want.

Sure, the sex scenes are hot. But is that really all the novels are for? I feel like I might be missing the point of these novels. You might be wondering why I’m so interested in this, and the reason is because I’m in the process of writing my own. I read quite a few last weekend all in the name of research, and it discouraged me from wanting to proceed because of how vapid the whole thing is. And maybe that’s the point! That they’re strictly for entertainment purposes, which is fantastic. They are pretty entertaining. But as a reader, I want something more than just a kinky moment in someone’s bedroom. It feels disingenuous and like I’m looking in on something I shouldn’t be. I’m well aware there are plenty of softer romances out there–I read those when I was younger, hoping for inspiration that way–but it still leaves much to be desired in my opinion (no pun intended?).

I think I’ll leave this here for tonight. I do have more to talk about when it comes to characterization problems I have, but that’s a different post entirely, I think, because it’s less related to romance novels. If you made it this far in my ramble/rant, thank you. I would love to have an actual discussion about this kind of thing with writers to see if I’m not quite catching the purpose of this genre. It would be an interesting conversation.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update

32

Today I turn 32. It’s such an odd feeling. I’ve not been a fan of my birthday for a very long time, but I’m trying to change that. Every year I visit a state park where I live and spend some time in nature to remind myself the world is bigger than what keeps me up at night. My favorite time of year is fall. I love the colors of the earth, the rain (although it’s not particularly pleasant to hike in), the cool mornings and evenings, the holidays. I love getting to spend time with my family especially around my birthday. They keep me grounded and remind me it’s okay to be here. It’s more than okay.

I’m not sure what all I want to say today. I get to see my niece, which is something I’ve been looking forward to for a while. I get to spend time with my brother, and when she’s done working, my sister-in-law. Their house is one of my favorite places to be. It re-centers me and recharges my social battery, even if we just sit around and watch Goose entertain herself.

I think sometimes we put too much pressure on ourselves to be more than what we are, and while that sounds a bit . . . harsh? It’s enough to be who you are for the people who matter to you. I don’t know. I feel like I’m being rather vague and somewhat “self-help” book today, but it’s more just trying to figure out where I fit into it all. I really don’t need much to be content, and I think that’s something I’m going to keep striving for, contentment. Happiness is impossible to maintain, but keeping up with contentedness is far more achievable. I’m going to go make some tea, maybe hot chocolate, I don’t know, and then I’m going to get ready to go see the babiest baby who ever babied.

Be kind to yourself. You are worth it.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Uncategorized

Let’s Talk

I had every intention of making this post about why I haven’t been blogging, but I mean come on.  There’s a pandemic and it’s thrown everyone into a tailspin and we’re all just doing our best.  I don’t know if I can say I’m doing my best, but I’m certainly trying to.

So, what are we going to talk about?  I don’t really know.  I wanted to be all poetic and beautifully worded, but I’m tired.  I’m very tired.  Maybe more tired than I’ve been before, and I know it’s deeper than because the world has felt like it’s been ending.  My depression manifests itself with unwashed dishes and unfolded laundry.  I finally got my kitchen cleaned and organized this weekend and it felt impossible the entire time.

It’s not a lack of motivation.  It’s more an attempt to pull an elephant out of a watermelon and you only have dental floss.  We hear so many times of people losing their battles with depression and anxiety and all kind of other mental illness, but what about the people fighting?  Daily striving to feel something other than a crushing weight of indescribable heft just hanging from our teeth.  Our chests are tight from holding in ourselves.  We can’t be too emotional, we can’t show we feel, so we hold it in, and we hold it tight because no one wants to know we’re struggling.

A lot of people are saying it’s okay not to be okay, and that’s true, but the caveat is you do something about it once you realize you’re not.  Self care isn’t always soft and gentle like those romanticized posts making the rounds on Instagram and Tumblr make it out to be.  Yeah, it can be those small moments, but real self care, the deeper self care is ugly.  It’s having moments where you tell yourself that enough is enough and you wash your dishes. You take a shower.  You brush your teeth.  The smallest things have the biggest significance.  You fight back for yourself.  You fight hard to beat back the voice that tells you you’re a failure.  Because you’re not.  You’re doing your best and that’s enough.  You are enough.

We are stronger than what our demons call us.  We can make it through this and more. I shouldn’t be here, but I am because there is some part of me that is determined to prove myself wrong.  I don’t ever tell people it gets better, because it hasn’t so far for me, but it gets easier to hoist on my shoulders and carry it.

You are worth it.  You are valued and you are loved most fiercely.  Hold on to those words until they fit into the bits of you that are broken because you are beautiful and the world needs you.

Salisbury.Fake dinner, food

Roasted Poblano and Split Pea Soup with Sunchoke

_MG_8311 (2)

A few notes before we get started:

  1. You can roast the poblano in the oven at 400* F for about 10-15 minutes, or until the skin is blistering.  You won’t have the same char effect as you would if you held it with tongs over the gas stove.  The main reason for roasting the pepper is to remove the skin anyway.  Or as much of it as you can.
  2. You can leave out the poblano entirely if you’d prefer to have it less spicy.
  3. This soup thickens quite a bit after it’s cooled, and oddly looks like custard once it’s been in the fridge.  To reheat, simply add enough water to reach your desired consistency and either reheat in a saucepan or in the microwave.  This soup will also freeze for up to 1 month.

Let’s get into it.

Ingredients

2 quarts (8 cups) vegetable stock — I used Better Than Bullion vegetable base NOT their vegetarian chicken broth base.
1 1/2 cups split peas, sorted and rinsed
1 poblano pepper, minced once it’s been roasted and peeled
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon liquid smoke (optional, but it adds a bacony flavor to the soup)
1/2 teaspoon oregano
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika

Taste for salt, add if needed along the way.  I didn’t need any extra salt with the Better Than Bullion paste.

Method

Bring stock to a boil in a large pot.  Add in all of the remaining ingredients and lower to a simmer.  Continue to simmer until peas are starting to mush together, almost like mashed potatoes.  I know it sounds gross, but it’s what I’ve got.  Puree part or all of the soup, or leave as is.  This serves four in normal portions, three in not normal portions.

For the sunchoke — otherwise known as the Jerusalem Artichoke:

This works for any size sunchoke, but I recommend only preparing as many as you plan on serving.  Clean thoroughly before placing on a baking tray.  Pierce with a fork a few times, and then bake at 375* F for half an hour.  The fork should go through easily, but don’t go all the way through.  Once sunchokes are fork tender, smash with the bottom of a glass and sprinkle salt and pepper on top, adding a small bit of butter as well, if desired.  Put back in the oven for another 7 minutes before removing the tray and flipping the sunchokes over (carefully), and finish baking for the remaining 7 minutes.

Serve without intending for leftovers.  They don’t hold up well in the fridge after 2 days.

Salisbury.Fake dinner, food

Vegan Carbonara with Tofu Pancetta

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photo by c.m.k.

Happy Friday!

Today we’re talking carbonara.  Minus the eggs.  I’ve tried other recipes before, and found they lacked the same mouthfeel straight-up carbonara has, and I think I’ve cracked the code.

The secret to this sauce is aquafaba.  Using that mimics the feeling eggs give this sauce.  Add a few other flavorings and you’re all set for a classic good time.  We’re not going to go into a huge story here, just the recipe.  Perfect for a quick lunch or midweek dinner.  Serve with a salad on the side, and you’ve got an easy entertaining meal for friends on the weekend.

Vegan Carbonara

1 1/3 cup aquafaba
1/2 cup unsweetened plant milk
1/2 cup nutritional yeast
1/4 cup olive oil (or other neutral flavor)
1/2 tsp onion powder
1/2 tsp garlic powder
1/4 tsp salt (or to taste)
1/2 tsp white miso paste (optional, but highly suggested)
1/2 tsp black pepper (seems like a lot, but please feel free to use to your preference)

Heat aquafaba to simmering.  Add in remaining ingredients and heat to a slow boil.  Reduce back to a simmer, and allow to simmer for fifteen minutes.  Add sauce to al dente pasta and continue cooking till pasta has absorbed sauce.

Tofu Pancetta

1 block of extra firm tofu, drained and pressed

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photo by c.m.k.

2 tbsp liquid smoke
1 tbsp worcestershire sauce (vegan friendly)
1/3 cup soy sauce/tamari
black pepper to taste
2 tsp sweetener of choice (I used maple syrup)
3 tbsp oil for frying

Small dice the tofu into cubes.  Mix marinade (liquid smoke, worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, sweetener, black pepper) in a shallow baking dish.  Add tofu and allow to marinate for at least thirty minutes, but longer is fine.  I’d say overnight if you can manage it.

Line on a baking tray and bake for 15 minutes at 375* F.  Let rest for a few minutes before tossing in a skillet with reserved 3 tbsp oil, 2 tbsp soy sauce, 1 tbsp worcestershire sauce, and 1 tsp liquid smoke.  This just seals in more flavor.

Serve with your carbonara for a bit of salty crunch with your pasta.  If you don’t want to use all of the pancetta for your pasta, it works well on top of salads, and could also be used as bacon bits for potatoes.

I hope you enjoy!