An expat sends a desultory postcard home
Jul. 22nd, 2015 04:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceI was going to play a game of Good News, Bad News - but if the good news is that there isn't really any bad news, then certainly the bad news is that there isn't any good news either. I have been feeling sub-par all day, and in that way that pets are said to grow to look like their owners, then most certainly days grow to suit the mood of the people who are obliged to live them.
Really I just wanted to spend all day asprawl on the sofa watching Game of Thrones, but I am not - quite - doing that. I am not particularly doing anything else, either. Have I started a new novel? Possibly: if fifteen words and a mild notion count as a beginning. It will probably go no further; I do a lot of this, striking sparks that never catch. I just like space opera, and I don't want to die before I write one. So this one I did at least commit to electrons, rather than letting it drift out of my head as readily as it had drifted in.
Am reading Archivist Wasp, which is excellent. Something of the flavour of Sabriel, I find, but harsher, less grateful to the throat: a cruder tea from further up the mountain.
It's almost no longer too soon to be drinking. And I have a glass of tomato juice chilling in the fridge. (I am making Indian dishes in the slow cookers large and small, for tomorrow's dinner, and one of them required me to drain a tin of tomatoes. Which I did over a bowl, just because I dislike waste; and after I had put the drained tomatoes to use I looked at the contents of the bowl and thought "There's got to be something I can - oh, wait. That's tomato juice, isn't it? Duh." So there will be a bloody mary in my very near future. And I thought there was no good news. I am a most unreliable narrator; I don't even realise when I'm lying to you, sometimes.)
And m'wife just phoned, and she is clearly being awesome all over her new boss and the entirety of Albany, NY; but she is still there until tomorrow evening, and I am still here. I nearly bought a camera today, but then I didn't. Again. And the nonstickery is wearing off Karen's old pans, so perhaps I should give some thought to replacing them... (Heh. As though I already hadn't. I kinda like the All-Clad TK range, for Thomas Keller is one of my culinary gods, or at least touchstones; but All-Clad is crazy costly. I do like buying sets, but maybe I'll go back to patrolling Ebay, and pounce a piece at a time as they come up...)
Was there anything else? I dunno. I am quite glum, but you guessed that. Actually I feel like I've been glum for ever. And time is dribbling away and I'm getting nothing done. Nothing that wakes.
EtA: oh, and I remember the other thing I meant to say. Whoever it was who thought that tiles were the way to go, to surface a kitchen counter? Idiot. That is all. (Of course they were always going to be a nightmare to clean between. How can they possibly not have realised that?)
Really I just wanted to spend all day asprawl on the sofa watching Game of Thrones, but I am not - quite - doing that. I am not particularly doing anything else, either. Have I started a new novel? Possibly: if fifteen words and a mild notion count as a beginning. It will probably go no further; I do a lot of this, striking sparks that never catch. I just like space opera, and I don't want to die before I write one. So this one I did at least commit to electrons, rather than letting it drift out of my head as readily as it had drifted in.
Am reading Archivist Wasp, which is excellent. Something of the flavour of Sabriel, I find, but harsher, less grateful to the throat: a cruder tea from further up the mountain.
It's almost no longer too soon to be drinking. And I have a glass of tomato juice chilling in the fridge. (I am making Indian dishes in the slow cookers large and small, for tomorrow's dinner, and one of them required me to drain a tin of tomatoes. Which I did over a bowl, just because I dislike waste; and after I had put the drained tomatoes to use I looked at the contents of the bowl and thought "There's got to be something I can - oh, wait. That's tomato juice, isn't it? Duh." So there will be a bloody mary in my very near future. And I thought there was no good news. I am a most unreliable narrator; I don't even realise when I'm lying to you, sometimes.)
And m'wife just phoned, and she is clearly being awesome all over her new boss and the entirety of Albany, NY; but she is still there until tomorrow evening, and I am still here. I nearly bought a camera today, but then I didn't. Again. And the nonstickery is wearing off Karen's old pans, so perhaps I should give some thought to replacing them... (Heh. As though I already hadn't. I kinda like the All-Clad TK range, for Thomas Keller is one of my culinary gods, or at least touchstones; but All-Clad is crazy costly. I do like buying sets, but maybe I'll go back to patrolling Ebay, and pounce a piece at a time as they come up...)
Was there anything else? I dunno. I am quite glum, but you guessed that. Actually I feel like I've been glum for ever. And time is dribbling away and I'm getting nothing done. Nothing that wakes.
EtA: oh, and I remember the other thing I meant to say. Whoever it was who thought that tiles were the way to go, to surface a kitchen counter? Idiot. That is all. (Of course they were always going to be a nightmare to clean between. How can they possibly not have realised that?)