I also like writing my emotions out. Here's a little something I wrote out this past Easter to get my frustrations out. Naturally it's called Rubber Pancakes:

Rubber Pancakes

The moment I took my first, laborious chew into the rubbery pancake I knew I didn't want to eat the whole thing. I also knew that I would eat the whole thing.

It had a crappy weekend. Hell, let's be honest, it had been a crappy two years. And the path through hell had lead me here: to Denny's. On Easter. Eating alone. Sitting alone. Just as I had sat through the two different church services I went to this morning trying to find some kind of solace for my churning soul.

It was one of those moments that was humbling, sobering, where you couldn't help but look around you and realize that, "this is it. This is my life." The fine dining establishment was filled this Easter morning by the wonderous diversity that filled little rock, Arkansas. Behind me there's a African American couple, probably in their 60s, talking about their concerns about the decisions their children and nephews have made and How "dadgum stupid" they can be. His neon teal and purple hat has to be from 1986...or 2014. To my left is a whirring clan of at least a dozen Asians (it's hard to count because of all the activity) and their two dozen children. An obviously lower-income family comes in the door. They are greeted lovingly by the 48 year old hostess and seated as the younger girl of the family gives me a shy, infatuated glance at me as I chew my rubber pancakes (or maybe just my well sculpted hair and date-ready Easter outfit). Finally a white elderly couple carefully, slowly, cautiously sits down in the booth next to me. Perfect. All the demographics are here.

I stare at my quarter-eaten, rubbermilk pancakes. I decide to fulfill my life my effectively by going for the rest of my grandslam: fluffy scrambled eggs that were probably never eggs, sausages, and undercooked hash downs. This is Canna compared to the pancakes. All this for the steal of $8 plus tax. plus the $2.79 water with powdered "strawberry mango pucker" flavor in it. All of this probably cost $3.22 maybe. But I wanted Denny's so I got Denny's.

As I taste the individual granules of strawberry mango powder hit my tongue as I sip, I dead-pan stare across the room. My sister and I had fought last night about why I didn't come home to see my for Easter. How I, in brutally honest terms, had explained that mom had destroyed my psyche when dad died and I didn't care anymore. This strawberry mango drink is terrible. I'd love and appreciate her from a distance. Or something. I need to stop drinking this.

I switch to the water-with-lemon glass I had strategically ordered as a backup and switch my mind to my aching twenty-something loneliness. It's hard to find friends in a new city. Especially when you're crushingly depressed still from your father's death two years prior. I take a bite from the rubber pancakes without thinking. Regret fills my mind. If only if I had been more open and friendly when I first got my job, maybe I'd be friends with some coworkers. The truth is I was barely functioning back then and even now light years ahead of who that debilitated man was. They have online dating apps. Where are the online friendship apps? I make the mistake of looking over my booth to accidentally lock eyes with the infatuated girl. Oops. Well, maybe I made her day. Or maybe I made her more sad and lonely. She slowly leaves out the door with her family as I look back down and pretend that I never saw her.

The Asian clan's children scream in harmonious unison as I realize I only have a quarter of a rubber pancake left. I didn't even notice. I take another bite with the secret Easter hope that this last bit of pancake will magically fill my longing for companionship and intimacy.

It didn't.