I made pizza tonight and set off the smoke alarm three times. My landlord texted to make sure I wasn’t going to burn down the house. But that’s the only way to make good pizza. Since I started eating vegan, I’ve only bought pizza from Panago because they’re the only ones who offer fake cheese, and I wanted to try. It wasn’t bad. I’d buy it again. But I make better pizza. I make my own crust, usually a big batch that I portion, wrap, and keep in the freezer. Then, when I remember, I defrost one so it’s ready for dinner. Oil the cast iron griddle and turn on the oven as hot as it will go. (Mine goes past 500F.) I have a bowl of tomatoes at various stages of ripe, which I’ve been roasting with rosemary and summer savoury in small batches. Those make the sauce. Tonight, I opened a can of pineapple, and yesterday, I bought some Daiya mozzarella shreds. I’m pretty happy with cheeseless pizza, but it’s a nice treat. I usually grind some pepper and sprinkle herbs on top. Sometimes, after the pizza comes out of the oven (about ten minutes), I pour a little balsamic vinegar. Tonight was more simple–charred crust, sweet pineapple, creamy cheese. But my favourite part is eating the whole thing by myself. 

On Wednesday, I started rewatching THE OC for the first time since I watched it on TV. The show premiered the summer of 2003, the year I went away to college, and it ended with a fizzle and a shortened season in 2007. The first thing you notice is how long ago 13 years was. Ryan uses a payphone. Seth’s iPod looks thicker than a pack of cards. Dark and light chunky streaks was the hairstyle of choice for women. Only 2003, but it already feels like a period piece. It feels like those 13 years of my life have just disappeared. A lot like the days since Wednesday when I started this marathon. I didn’t do yoga. I didn’t write. I barely slept. But it’s been cold and rainy, so maybe I deserved a few days to hermit and enjoy the past.