It is 1:00 in the morning, and I have just made enough food to feed a small army.

Been working on my paper all day, exploring the nook and cranny of using juvenile adjudication as a prior offense under the Three Strikes law. I grew restless. Looking around the room, I fixed my eyes on the pots and pans and the stovetop. Wanting to create something with my hands, I walked to the refrigerator – my color the ingredients and my canvas the wok. Sans thinking, sans theorizing, I followed a sort of creative natural instinct and melded together a unique smorgasbord of ingredients to make something that’s mine alone.

I cracked two eggs open, chopped green onions with ease, and gently shredded the home-stewed beef and chicken with my hands. I decided to make fried rice. Sweet smelling aromas filled the room as every flavor blended perfectly together. I finished it with a pinch of salt and a handful of fresh ground pepper.

The room smells soothing now, like home. I have not tried my creation, but it’s already perfect - sitting pretty on the stovetop, emitting the warmth and comfort that I was looking for.