I will drink it and drink it
Feb. 9th, 2015 07:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceFor the mending of broken people:
First, shop for onions.
Then make French onion soup. Allow a couple of hours.
Then have totally awesome massage therapist take you apart limb from limb, etc.
Then feed massage therapist with soup.
Probably what I should've done after that was lie wanly on the sofa and say "Ah, me" occasionally; in fact what I did was zoom off to the library and do some work. Then I came home and made secret chile verde, which has been stewing slowly for the last couple of hours and oh, people: I am so glad you are not here to taste it, for there would not be enough. There could never be enough of this. I have a sort of massage-hangover, where one half of me just wants to nap while another half wants to drink wine, but the third alternative half keeps going back to the pot with a spoon and slurruping up the juice, as though it were a kind of slow transient soup. I love soup, and have apparently not had enough today. I may possibly never have had enough; certain 'tis that we don't drink enough on a regular basis. Whatever happened to that notion where soup was a standard opening round, and the only question asked was thick or thin? ("Thin's less trouble to lick off the spoon," said Wimsey.)
First, shop for onions.
Then make French onion soup. Allow a couple of hours.
Then have totally awesome massage therapist take you apart limb from limb, etc.
Then feed massage therapist with soup.
Probably what I should've done after that was lie wanly on the sofa and say "Ah, me" occasionally; in fact what I did was zoom off to the library and do some work. Then I came home and made secret chile verde, which has been stewing slowly for the last couple of hours and oh, people: I am so glad you are not here to taste it, for there would not be enough. There could never be enough of this. I have a sort of massage-hangover, where one half of me just wants to nap while another half wants to drink wine, but the third alternative half keeps going back to the pot with a spoon and slurruping up the juice, as though it were a kind of slow transient soup. I love soup, and have apparently not had enough today. I may possibly never have had enough; certain 'tis that we don't drink enough on a regular basis. Whatever happened to that notion where soup was a standard opening round, and the only question asked was thick or thin? ("Thin's less trouble to lick off the spoon," said Wimsey.)