Paprika and fights

When I'm depressed, I braise. You'd think with my Hungarian heritage it would be the usual -- goulash, chicken paprikash. But I go for the Spanish Style Braised Chicken. Still, it has the ingredient that does connect me to my past: paprika. Rich, smoky and red, it feeds me.

My world feels like the twilight zone, and I feel uncertain of each next step. Like the recent weather -- ever changing from sunshowers and repeated rainbows to flat gray cold to pouring -- my world my moods and my hormones face new territory every morning.

Today, the new house is in question because of a ridiculous, insane, tiny financial glitch that threatens our credit rating and the entire deal.

Doors open, Doors close.

I just wanted to walk through the open door. Time to (wo)man up.