Sometimes it feels like I’ve lost my best friend… because I stopped posting on Xanga.

It’s Sunday night.  I’m watching Food Network and looking back at my weekend.  I can’t say it was wasted, though I didn’t really do much of what most people would consider interesting – if someone asked me what I did this past weekend, I would say “Cooked, cleaned, hung around the apartment, grabbed dinner and a movie with a friend,” although everything, with the exception of that last one, was done solo. 

I cooked a bunch of various things, some just to eat, and some for the week’s lunches ahead of me.  I tried something new today, and it failed miserably, which resulted in a laughing phone call to my boyfriend describing the utter failure of an upcoming post on Feisty Foodie.  Though I’d made something that he likes more than I do, I was glad he wasn’t here to be my taste tester (although, honestly, since I don’t normally like this item, perhaps he should have been there as someone who actually knows what it should taste like), since the failure was at once laughable and yet… pitiful.  I’m a grown woman of 28 who followed the directions exactly.  Why didn’t it come out the way it should have?  Whatever…

But the resounding theme here is “alone”.  Not “lonely” mind you, but simply “alone”.  I commented early on in 2008 that it looked to be shaping up to be the year of ME, of being alone, and I was right.  I attended 13 baseball games alone.  I lived alone.  I dined alone at restaurants, frequently.  I learned how to cook for me alone (though I still haven’t mastered the art of cooking for one – I continue to have massive amounts of leftovers most days).  I walk alone. 

I can’t say that I’ve grown up much this past year; sure I’ve learned how to do things alone, but in a way, it felt like I regressed.  Where someone might say “But you learned how to do things alone; isn’t that growing up?  Maturing?” the reality is, as someone who’s done these things, it actually is just the opposite.  To do things alone, to learn to do these things alone – that by itself may be a sign of maturity, but really, really, truly, the massive amount of pleasure I derive from these things makes it a completely selfish act.  I’ve discovered how blissful it is to sit alone in a restaurant and choose to engross myself in the meal, to taste each savory morsel, to put my fork down between bites and just enjoy, or read a book, or people watch (which I rarely do; it bores me to tears now, ironically). 

And I’m scared to admit this, but I guess I will: I’ve become exponentially more selfish in this regard.  Cooking solely for me, for my tastes, for me, nothing ever tastes bad.  (Well, with that exception up there, but I already said I was making something I don’t personally enjoy eating anyway.)  To introduce someone else into this mix – for example, if I invite someone over for dinner – kind of irritates me, mildly, but still, the irritation is there.  It’s “Aw, man, I didn’t want to cook for someone else tonight,” because “I wanted to make it slightly spicy and s/he doesn’t like spicy,” or “But I wanted to add beans…” 

On the bright side, however, I’ve come to learn evern more significantly just what I like in terms of taste.  I’ve begun experimenting with seasonings and combinations, new things, learning what pleases my tongue and what… doesn’t.  I haven’t been too crazy just yet, so mostly nothing has been horrifyingly appalling to my tongue, but I’m sure that day will come.  It will come. 

2008 was indeed an excellent year.  But 2009 promises to be even better.  Not just because I demand it.  But because I deserve it, and I’ve set into motion the makings of what promises to be a truly wonderful year.  It doesn’t get more amazing than this year.  It truly does not.

I hope nothing but the best for all of my lovely readers, if anyone is still reading.