fevers make me wistful

tonight marks the end of the light half of the year, the end of the most bountiful of the autumn harvests, the death of the sun god. and the mother will weep until the spring resurrects the blossoms like new birth and life erupts and thrushes across the earth in triumph.

this is a time to take stock and prepare for the darkest months. gather yourselves up against the cold and void. now is the moment of sleep.

with which namesakes earn their stripes.

everyone around the office is leaking from their face-holes and miserably acking and wheezing and moaning. actually, most people i know at the moment. 'tis the season for mucus death and whatnot.

i've given out these two recipes a half a dozen times today, so i figured why continue this charade? i'll just post them on the internet and cut out the courtship period where you complain about how shitty you feel and how you can't go to the doctor because you don't have insurance and i say that i have the perfect thing for you and you say 'no, that's ok. i'll just get some tussin from rite aid' and you drink half a bottle of icky chemicals just so you can feel woozy enough to pass out and then tomorow you say 'let me try that recipe, cuz this tussin is fucking with my head and hurting my tummy'. this way, it's here when you need it and i can stop writing it down for a while.

without further adieu-

the fix-it tea to end all teas and the best cure all a non-alcoholic beverage can be:

one bag green tea

one bag fruity herbal tea (i like peach spice)

one half of a lemon

1/2 inch piece of ginger

1/4 tsp cayenne pepper

1 tsp honey

(for after hours, i make it in a bigger cup and add a half a cup of brandy, yes!)

pour hot water over tea, honey and cayenne. juice the lemon and plop the peel in for an extra jolt of citrus oil goodness. peel and bruise ginger and add to tea. it has a kick, but it works better than theraflu!

part deux. this soup is straight from your head cold's wet dreams:

2 large tomatoes

1 or 2 tsp brown sugar

6 cloves garlic, minced

1 or 2 small red thai pepper(s), halved lengthwise (or seeded and minced if you're brave)

1 small red onion, minced

1 small serrano pepper, seeded and minced

1 poblano pepper, minced
salt and pepper

1 stalk lemongrass, halved lengthwise (if you have it) or one tbs of the paste stuff

1/2 can of tomato paste

1 cup chicken or vegetable broth (you can add more if you like, i'm just not a fan of overly liquidy soups)

1/2 lemon, juiced

1/2 inch piece ginger, bruised

(i also add red curry powder and cayenne, but this is because i'm almost sadistic sometimes. if you don't have the stones to do this i won't think any less of you, swear. milk baby.)

preheat oven to 350. halve the tomatoes and rub each piece with a little brown sugar and olive oil. roast in the oven 5-8 minutes or until slightly smooshy. remove and let stand a minute to cool. peel the skin off with your fingers and dice. heat a little olive in a medium sauce pan. reduce heat to medium and add garlic, onion, peppers (and lemongrass paste). sautee until onion is transluscent. add tomatoes, curry, cayenne, salt and pepper. toss to coat and add broth, tomato paste, lemon juice and ginger piece (and lemongrass stalk). bring to a boil, reduce heat then cover and simmer for 15 minutes. remove ginger and red peppers (and lemongrass stalk).

blend one cup soup until smooth and re-add to pot. simmer another five minutes and serve with a big glass of ice water.

your clogged air passages will thank you.

phantasmaglorio-us.

last night i dreamed that d and i boarded a plane in new york city to fly home. during the taxi, we fell asleep leaning against each other. while we slept, i watched the plane crash on the brooklyn bridge. everyone died but us. we were preserved, we didn't wake up for hours. as we lay deep in the fitful slumber that i always find on planes, the fires burned out, the engines cooled. and when we woke, we found ourselves alone. the bridge was empty, the lights of the city cast a warm glow in the sky. we stood there, looking out on the abandoned streets and the quiet cool air and we talked about where we would go next. and we held hands in the doorway of the plane, afraid to leave the burned out husk.

sometimes, dreams don't mean anything at all. but sometimes, they seem more like chimeric visions. not always of the future, not always like one foot out of the present, not always hindsight. but when you wake up, you feel like you know.

i'm not afraid to leave the wreckage, abandoned like a failed utopian cult.