Plated

The Russians have a saying I’ve always found amusing. Я не в своей тарелке (Ya ne v svoej tarelke) — I’m not on (in) my plate. When you’re not on your plate, you’re perhaps a little grumpy. Perhaps you’re not your usual self. Sometimes, on a good day, I like to say I’m ON my plate. Or mess around and say the plate’s broken so I can’t be on it or off it. It just is.

I’ve been off my plate frequently these last few months–mainly because the plate has changed. It’s not a shallow dinner soup plate any more. It’s a cracked, distorted plate with some shiny bits and some other parts that light shines through. This plate wobbles. It’s non-standard. It’s awkward. It’s not a plate I’d be on at all if it didn’t seem like I needed to be on a plate in the first place. So I generally have to adjust if I want to be on the plate. I can’t help but notice, however, that the longer I’m on the plate, the more comfortable it gets. Pretty soon it will become a standard plate.

Until they hand me a new one.

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