A little comfort food.

The experimental work ended on Monday in Liverpool.  Now it was all about patience and waiting for the report.  We planned for a positive outcome throughout the week in Cambridge: I started waking at 4 am again, fretting.

Do you eat when you worry?  Some sort of comfort food?

Not really, I likely eat less. 

Even though I can be tempted by a Full English Breakfast at the College, that’s more indulgence than comfort food.

So what do you do when there’s just stress and waiting?

Unfortunately, I probably still do things that make me feel worse.  Exercise harder, walk or drive to avoid sitting around workrooms, intent conversation with tolerant or sympathetic friends.  ‘living alone keeps me from being a burden, I suppose.

But it also makes it easy to spiral, to worry excessively, to have an extra Guinness, to get into long conversations with myself that lead nowhere.  It’s not a healthy way of adapting.

I got into a discussion last month about whether I had any safe spaces or people left where I could express my interests or what’s on my mind freely.  There’s a parallel issue with not having a comfortable distractions at hand when stress builds.  They both seem like personal necessities I need to cultivate.

Exploring the Dorset Coast and evenings spent cooking are certainly two possibilities.  And, on the latter, the Times finally came out with the definitive distinction between a biscuit and a scone, once a frequent debate in my British kitchen. 

“Two tablespoons of sugar and an egg,” is the right answer,

to which I’d only add a dollop of cream or melted butter on eating.  And milky tea.   Comfort…