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desperanceOh dear lord I feel awful. My head aches and my throat aches and my nose runs and I cough and I swallow all the pills all of them and none of them can touch me.
Nevertheless: I have stiffened the sinews of my marmalade, and chopped & ground (s'funny, after a mere three years incountry I am no longer comfortable saying "minced"; which is not to say that I like to say "ground" either; essentially I have lost my comfort here, and whichever way I go I can feel myself putting silent quotation marks around it, which is no state for a man to occupy, where he views his own words with a jaundiced and distancing eye) the heart & liver & lights for the Sunday haggis. And cleaned the cooker, that too. I never would've used to; even a sixmonth since, I would have let that slide, on account of sick etc; but something's shifted in my head, and now I actively like to keep a clean kitchen. *shrugs*
Meanwhile, m'wife fetched me hot-and-sour soup to my lunch, which I am sure Stephen Maturin would commend as roborative and promoting a virtuous effusion. And other than these cooky things, I have mostly been lying on the couch reading O'Brian, because sick. Dinner will be scratch tonight: goulash from the freezer, leftover rice from the fridge. Brussels sprouts with almonds, though, because wife.
And now I'm going to sort out the fridge, because I have a whole ham that needs chilling, not to mention everything else; and why is there no more rum?
Nevertheless: I have stiffened the sinews of my marmalade, and chopped & ground (s'funny, after a mere three years incountry I am no longer comfortable saying "minced"; which is not to say that I like to say "ground" either; essentially I have lost my comfort here, and whichever way I go I can feel myself putting silent quotation marks around it, which is no state for a man to occupy, where he views his own words with a jaundiced and distancing eye) the heart & liver & lights for the Sunday haggis. And cleaned the cooker, that too. I never would've used to; even a sixmonth since, I would have let that slide, on account of sick etc; but something's shifted in my head, and now I actively like to keep a clean kitchen. *shrugs*
Meanwhile, m'wife fetched me hot-and-sour soup to my lunch, which I am sure Stephen Maturin would commend as roborative and promoting a virtuous effusion. And other than these cooky things, I have mostly been lying on the couch reading O'Brian, because sick. Dinner will be scratch tonight: goulash from the freezer, leftover rice from the fridge. Brussels sprouts with almonds, though, because wife.
And now I'm going to sort out the fridge, because I have a whole ham that needs chilling, not to mention everything else; and why is there no more rum?