Comfort Food

So after numerous false starts, bouts of writer's block, and postponements for various other projects, I have finally, FINALLY, finished my dark urban fantasy novel. It's gritty. It's sexy. It's darkly humorous. And, well, it's long. For the genre, it's on par with other novels but for me, after writing erotic shorts and novellas of 15K or 30K, this one seems like a dictionary. My new tome clocks in at 115K. 70K of that was written in the last ten days or so.

Yeah. I'm beyond exhausted. I'm teetering on the verge of hysteria. I actually made myself sick, folks. Writing mania doesn't mix well with my oh-my-god-I-have-to-be-the-perfect-cook-housekeeper-lover-dog-mommy-friend-daughter-sister fanaticism. I'm a tad punchy and pukey. Not good. Must rest.

When I get like this, I turn to food. Since I'm dieting, that's sort of a bad thing. Luckily, I seem to have learned how to eat well when emotionally gorging. I stuck to fruits, veggies, and yogurt. Even with the constant grazing, I still lost a pound this week...and missed pretty much all of my workouts.

I did give into one comfort craving though. As a kid, I used to love hot tortillas slathered with butter. Ama (my paternal grandmother) used to pull them right off the stove, rub a stick of butter over them, roll them up, and hand them out like treats. We'd all clamor and line up at the stove like it was an ice cream truck. God, those were the days.

Meh. Now I miss my grandma.