Breakfast.

When I was in elementary school, we used to have cereal every weekday morning. On the weekends, Dustin, Trisha and I would make Jiffy Blueberry muffins (Trish was probably 12, so she could cook, and Dustin and I could try to help.) Or sometimes Mom would cook pancakes, bacon, biscuits and gravy, waffles, french toast, scrambled eggs, sausage, hash browns--not all at once, but some combination.

When I was in middle school, the cool thing was to skip breakfast because food made everyone nauseous in the morning. So I drank chocolate milk every day in sixth grade. This was a terrible idea. My bones grew stronger and decided to grow, causing me to be 5' 6" and taller than most everyone else in my grade, especially every single boy in the school. Unfortunately, the damage had been done, so I continued to drink milk for breakfast. Instead of chocolate, I began adding Carnation instant breakfast packets to my milk.

In high school, after having to get up at 5:45, I usually just didn't eat breakfast at all until senior year, when free breakfast was offered to everyone. For the entire year I ate my individual bowl of cereal and my cinnamon toast. I actually didn't always eat the cinnamon toast. It was mass produced, frequently was crunchy, dripping with butter, or an outrageously cinna-tastic piece of not so good bread. I went through phases with the cereal: Trix, Lucky Charms, and Cocoa Puffs. Healthy, well-balanced meals!

When I went to college, these healthy breakfast habits continued. When I worked at Duvall over the summers (which I had a dream that the pool was flooded, so I was jumping around on fences to stay dry, but the swimmers, who just swam in the flooded pool area, tugged on the fence so I got drenched. I didn't work there, I was just passing through,) I would always eat. At college, I frequently had cereal. I rarely went to the meal plan place for breakfast--Why waste a meal on cereal when I had cereal in my dorm? Or I could make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich! Or a grilled cheese sandwich on the iron...

When we go home, we usually have Saturday morning breakfast, where Mom makes us all a big breakfast. Dustin and I pretend to help. After "helping" Trish make muffins for years, we're quite accustomed to hanging out in the kitchen, leaving the cook to think we're helping when in reality we are just giggling about some joke and watching the cook do all the work.

Today, I decided to be different and make french toast for breakfast! However, we were out of eggs... and I wasn't sure if the milk was good... and we don't own any cinnamon or vanilla... I briefly contemplated fried milk toast as a breakfast, and if it would satisfy my craving. Or test edible. Or get crunchy, because I'm 30% certain that the eggs make it crunchy.

However, I opted on the side of caution and made grilled cheese instead.

Awareness.

Having been writing all day for school, I will take a break from my assignment to do something else: blogging. I usually try to stay away from controversial subjects on my blog, like politics, religion, anything serious, etc. However, I began thinking about an issue this morning and planning out this blog, and as the situation has escalated, I want to write my say before too much more goes down via the Book of Face.

A few months ago, something happened on Facebook. People started changing their statuses to highly uncomfortable things, like "So-and-So likes it on a wooden peg near the door," or,"Whats-her-face likes it on a dresser next to the bed." Highly uncomfortable. When people commented saying, "Bro, why are you so awkward?" they respond with, "Oh, it's for breast cancer awareness! It's where I put my purse!" When I asked how this raises said awareness, one of my friends responded, "When people ask you why your status says that, you say it's for breast cancer awareness."

As of three days ago, I began seeing alot of animated profile pictures. Specifically, of cartoon characters from my past. They were interesting! I had absolutely no idea why this was going on, or who was part of the trend, but it seemed cute and I also wished I could make some part of my childhood cartoon days my profile picture! If only I knew why this was happening!

Well, eventually due to some roundabout status posting, I discovered it was to raise awareness! Child abuse awareness.

My issues with this scenario are numerous. Firstly, since most profile picture changes are not accompanied by any sort of child abuse information, anyone who is not part of the trend thinks it's just a cool fad, and has no idea about the awareness, as I did for three days. Secondly, I think everyone is aware of child abuse, and does not like it. When my good friend Leah questioned in a status how it helped, she got many negative responses, and about how it caused them to be more aware. I also commented, about how I was aware of child abuse for thirty minutes that morning and pondered the terrible truths, but that in no way affected any abused child for better or worse. To this, one response was that prayer helps, and another was that maybe .5% of the people would be inspired to help! To the first response: while I believe in the power of prayer, I'd maybe like to see a specific campaign about praying for child abuse, if prayer is your method of battle. To the next: instead of campaigning to thousands of people to be aware, why not campaign for change? Instead of telling everyone to be aware that child abuse happens, why not tell everyone to make a change for child abuse! To get the right to change your picture, donate to a cause. Something like that.

I don't wear breast cancer awareness ribbons or any sort of awareness shirts or anything of the like, because being aware of the problem does nothing. I know breast cancer exists, and it is unfortunate, but until I am donating money towards finding a cure, or until I actively am involved in helping the situation for the better, why should I get the right to wear something and act like I'm a hero for being aware that it exists? I was aware it existed before I wore the ribbon, the only difference is that now I can feel like I'm making a change. I'd much rather wear awareness shirts for issues like, "Things about Global Warming that you didn't' know," or, "Specific reasons why you should recycle cardboard," because those are things of which I'm not aware, and also prompt a change... although if I wore the recycling shirt and still didn't recycle cardboard, what would the point be?

Allergies.

Some people, on a yearly basis, begin sniffling and complaining about these "Allergies." Some people enter a room where there has been an animal and begin sneezing, with this same complaint. Some people eat a peanut and die.

With the exception of the third case, I never really understood their complaints. It's just a runny nose. It's just sneezing. Suck it up, get some tissues, life continues. I never had much sympathy for these people because I, having never experienced allergies, did not know that 90% of the reaction from allergies is inside of one's head. Not as in imaginary, as in it is literally somewhere behind the eyes and above the nasal passages. I believe this area is the sinuses, but I also haven't taken any anatomy beyond the first grade version that teaches you important things like "Head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes."

No longer. I am a changed person. I have battled with allergies vigilantly, and am now a changed person.

For Thanksgiving, I went to Mike's house. His parents own two birds and a dog. They also live in the middle area of Florida, which is known for being terrible for pollen allergies and such. I don't know what did this to me, but I woke up at 4 am in the middle of the first night, unable to breathe through most of my nose. I want to describe more, but I also don't want to get into details about runny noses on the internet. You've all been there.

I ended up not being able to sleep again the rest of the night, so I tried to live with allergies on four hours of sleep the next day. Big mistake. The allergy symptoms mixed with the tired symptoms until I didn't know what belonged where, and I just felt like a zombie with an overinflated head. The 90% under the surface is the inflamed sinuses or whatever. It is like there is a balloon inside of my skull, confined to only be as large as my skull, that can only hold so much water because it can only expand as large as my skull. Well, someone stuck a plug in my nose, forcing water to continue building up in that balloon, so that my head feels like the inside is expanding against itself, threatening to cause a burst so that the pressure can escape.

I've written this blog first thing in the morning, so if it is incoherent, my apologies. It's the allergies trying to take over.

Anyways, to all of you who have ever suffered from allergies, I am completely and sincerely sorry.

Green.

The seasons hold no meaning in Florida, other than a slight change in clothing, and a few hours of sunlight.

I've always said fall was my favorite season because the leaves change, even if it doesn't happen in Florida. I never thought about how it also means everything dies for the next few months. To other people, at least I assume, fall isn't fun because, although there's a few weeks of beautiful colors, there are months of lifeless trees and colorless views.

Similarly, I've never seen any reason to enjoy spring, but I assume that for anyone living anywhere but here, it's wonderful to see everything return to life after months of cold and death and hibernation. What must it be like to see green again after months of gray and white?

In Florida, it's green all year long. In the middle of winter, the trees look the exact same, having refused to shed any foliage. Everything looks as alive in June as it does in December, and spring has no effect on any of the colors we see. And I think I have a lesser appreciation for green because of this. When people ask why there are bad times, the typical answer is that without bad times, we wouldn't be able to appreciate the good times. Well, without a winter or a fall, how can I ever appreciate leaves and spring and green?

Salsa.

As I write this blog, I am pressing my lips furiously against the condensation on my glass of water, as I naively decided that I no longer needed the ice cube I was previously using.

I made home-made salsa once. After eating it at a friend's house, I looked up a recipe for mild salsa, and where the recipe called for optional jalapeno peppers, I decilined. My salsa was delicious, although it had a tad bit too much cilantro for my taste.

Today, I went to Publix with Mike to buy some sort of delicious fruit. As we perused the fruit section, he stopped in front of one bin and became rather excited. I was confused and hesitant, since I didn't want to disappoint him by letting him know that tomatillos, while tiny, green, and interesting looking, couldn't possibly be whatever delicious fruit for which he had mistaken them. Luckily, he began raving about homemade salsa, buying all the necessary ingredients on the spot.

Later that evening, we began the process of making said salsa. Now, when I made salsa, I just stuck some large pieces into the Magic Bullet, via suggestion of my father, and ended up with a chunky, delicious sort of salsa, like the one my friend inspired me to make. This salsa, however, was to be finely ground. Finely ground. I don't think you are quite getting the picture. Imagine cutting something into itsy-bitsy pieces in your mind, so that it is approaching inhalant-size. Then Mike tells you, "Oh, it's almost there, just go through it a few more times!" Really? Are we drinking this salsa? Also, since we are making a rather large bowl of this salsa, it takes hours to chop everything. It took two people about two hours, so I can't imagine the task of making it alone. However, after hours of cutting, sore hands, sore back, and other similar symptoms, the salsa was ready for the taste test.

Because of the ingredients, I knew it would be spicier than my jalapeno-free salsa. Also, I knew that habanero peppers were one of the most spicy substances known to man. I even should have been warned when Mike, with a much higher spicy tolerance than me (as a child, Popeye's chicken strips, which aren't spicy, were too much for my tongue, let alone anything that dared called itself mild) was shocked, though impressed, with the spiciness of this salsa. Instead, I chose to put a miniscule amount of salsa on a tortilla chip and take a nibble. Bad idea.

I jumped back, repeating the words, "Too spicy! Milk!" until Mike poured me a glass of the small amount of milk he had left. After taking a sip, I tried another bite. This method may have allowed me to eat a considerable amount of the salsa which, though tasty, could burn a hole through certain types of cloth. When the milk was finished, I was finished with salsa. However, two minutes of washing my hands with soap and water had not removed the pepper residue. I mistakenly licked my thumb, only to be assaulted with another wave of fire. With no milk, I grabbed an ice cube. I'm not sure if I counteracted the spice or if I successfully numbed my mouth. Either way, it dulled the pain.

I will never again volunteer to mince the habanero peppers.