desperance (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
desperance) wrote2013-06-28 04:22 pm
desperance) wrote2013-06-28 04:22 pm
When m'wife tells me I'm hot, I feel obliged to listen
The concrete on the patio was almost too hot to walk across barefoot this afternoon; certainly too hot to linger on. I felt like one of those desert lizards, lifting alternate feet. It's going to be in the 90s here till the middle of next week, apparently; 110 further inland, east of the Bay. That forecast comes with official Awful Warnings.
Fortunately the grill stands in the shade of the clubhouse, so it's workable out there.
The pork is gruntling along. I've put some habaneros, garlic and salt to smoke beside it, with intentions of making a little habanero/garlic salsa as well as a more moderate mango salsa to share with m'wife.
In news not of food, I finished a story today and have sent it off to where it was requested. She may not be expecting quite that - "epic fantasy" was the brief, so I wrote about an old man and his garden - but, y'know. We like variety.
It's a short story, though, and it's taken me most of the month. Some of my friends have pretty much written a novel in that time. Time was, I could've competed with them. Not apparently now. I hate this unproductiveness, but I can't find where I'm slacking. Granted there are other things I am doing, but shopping for and feeding two people is really not a full-time job, even if you reckon in all the angst. I wish I could monetise my angst. It is a fine flourishing peacock fellow, it really ought to be displayed. And paid for...
Fortunately the grill stands in the shade of the clubhouse, so it's workable out there.
The pork is gruntling along. I've put some habaneros, garlic and salt to smoke beside it, with intentions of making a little habanero/garlic salsa as well as a more moderate mango salsa to share with m'wife.
In news not of food, I finished a story today and have sent it off to where it was requested. She may not be expecting quite that - "epic fantasy" was the brief, so I wrote about an old man and his garden - but, y'know. We like variety.
It's a short story, though, and it's taken me most of the month. Some of my friends have pretty much written a novel in that time. Time was, I could've competed with them. Not apparently now. I hate this unproductiveness, but I can't find where I'm slacking. Granted there are other things I am doing, but shopping for and feeding two people is really not a full-time job, even if you reckon in all the angst. I wish I could monetise my angst. It is a fine flourishing peacock fellow, it really ought to be displayed. And paid for...