comfort food.

i moved into a new room this week. new rooms terrify me and reassure me all at the same time. my wonderfully busy job and my amazing roommate keep me from losing my mind, as does my sister. sisters do it best.

i’ve lost count of how many houses and apartments i’ve lived in and so my room always remains somewhat the same, bits and pieces clinging to the original, if there is an original. it doesn’t make sense not to bring something with you when you’ve been bringing it for so long. and there are new things. there are always new things.

when i first came to ottawa my bedroom had really wide windows. i sat at my desk a lot and procrastinated on homework and watched this one really tall tree sway in the wind, which it did always. almost always. and i ate kiwi. a lot of kiwi. in hamilton my comfort food was pickles, so i kept a jar in my ottawa fridge that i never ate. it was still there when i was moving out:

there was no traffic at that apartment, but there was that one swaying tree. i miss that tree sometimes. that really isn’t the point. the point is that i never ate pickles while i was looking at the tree and avoiding my homework, or whatever. i ate kiwi. with a spoon. you know, cut in half. without thinking about it, easily, lazily, staring out the window. (when it was pickles i ate them right off the fork out of the jar sitting on the cat’s weird little house in the kitchen against the back door where the window overlooked the deck and the trees and i could keep the fridge open if i wanted or closed it didn’t matter.) that was the last time i lived alone, really, because then i had matt and we were dating and everything and when you live with a boyfriend you kind of abandon comfort food. or i do. anyway. i’m trying to say that it was also the last time i ate comfort food. not to say that i didn’t eat a lot of kiwi, because i did. and also a few pickles here and there, if that counts. but it’s not the same.

so needless to say i bought kiwi when i got here.
and apparently i’ve forgotten how to eat it. with a spoon. it didn’t work out. i won’t go into detail but barely any of it ended up on the spoon, most of it on my sweater. no easy or lazy. huge ordeal. i need to move on. find a new comfort food, hopefully without thinking about it. but all my food is comfort food.

i do sit in the window though, and it overlooks the street. and there isn’t any traffic here but you still see some pretty interesting things.