Emollience
Mar. 3rd, 2015 03:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceOn account of numbed, agonised and bewildered mouth, lunch yesterday was warm and soothing soup: pork and split pea, as it happens. Enlivened - need I say? - with a couple of chillies, because hullo.
There were people coming for dinner last night, and I refused to put them off, although by evening I was just utterly wrecked. I have mentioned before that it is the tradition in people both bullied and tortured, that after a session they only want to sleep. The same is true - of me, at least - after radical physiotherapy. Hurt us too much, and our bodies apparently want to shut down for a while. That was me last night: not in much pain, but totally exhausted. Still: I skinned a chicken and marinated it in yoghurt and ginger and garlic, then rubbed it with a spice paste and wrapped it in tinfoil and baked it in the oven. Served it with its juices over rice and beside a mustard/tamarind cauliflower. That was nice.
Karen chased everyone away about half eight, because I wasn't able for it. And then of course I didn't sleep all night, because hullo.
Today I guess I'm okay, except that every now and then every nerve in my mouth kinda shrieks in a communal we're-all-in-this-together sort of way. That's enlivening. And God knows I need enlivening, because I am once again dead to the world, utterly run out of oomph. Like my Fitbit, apparently, which thinks I've taken no steps at all for the last three days. I'm hoping it just ran flat without telling me, because otherwise I face Life Without Fitbit; it's a fun toy, but not enough of an incentive to be worth replacing. I walk where I walk, with or without its counting.
Lunch today was scrambled eggs - with chillies, yes - and brains. Which, you will notice, have a thing in common. Yup: softness of texture (at least, the way I scramble eggs, they do. Sometimes I think I should open a restaurant, just to teach people how to eat properly: steaks will be served blue, lamb pink, burgers rare. Eggs will be scrambled softly. The chef will not entertain requests). I may be milking this, but milk is emollient too. As is tea. Mmm, tea. And a sofa, and a cat...
There were people coming for dinner last night, and I refused to put them off, although by evening I was just utterly wrecked. I have mentioned before that it is the tradition in people both bullied and tortured, that after a session they only want to sleep. The same is true - of me, at least - after radical physiotherapy. Hurt us too much, and our bodies apparently want to shut down for a while. That was me last night: not in much pain, but totally exhausted. Still: I skinned a chicken and marinated it in yoghurt and ginger and garlic, then rubbed it with a spice paste and wrapped it in tinfoil and baked it in the oven. Served it with its juices over rice and beside a mustard/tamarind cauliflower. That was nice.
Karen chased everyone away about half eight, because I wasn't able for it. And then of course I didn't sleep all night, because hullo.
Today I guess I'm okay, except that every now and then every nerve in my mouth kinda shrieks in a communal we're-all-in-this-together sort of way. That's enlivening. And God knows I need enlivening, because I am once again dead to the world, utterly run out of oomph. Like my Fitbit, apparently, which thinks I've taken no steps at all for the last three days. I'm hoping it just ran flat without telling me, because otherwise I face Life Without Fitbit; it's a fun toy, but not enough of an incentive to be worth replacing. I walk where I walk, with or without its counting.
Lunch today was scrambled eggs - with chillies, yes - and brains. Which, you will notice, have a thing in common. Yup: softness of texture (at least, the way I scramble eggs, they do. Sometimes I think I should open a restaurant, just to teach people how to eat properly: steaks will be served blue, lamb pink, burgers rare. Eggs will be scrambled softly. The chef will not entertain requests). I may be milking this, but milk is emollient too. As is tea. Mmm, tea. And a sofa, and a cat...