Status

I hab a code. Ib by hedd.

Nebertheless, I also hab three pages. Bages.

That last bit is the only surprise, I think. I was feeling rough yesterday, and my throat was sore the night before; of course I was getting a cold. Besides, I have a hospital appointment next week for a smart doctor to peer up my nose and learn things. Of course I must cover her with snot in the process. Lovely. No doubt she's used to it, but I'm not...

Anyway, I have put on a jumper and burned reckless amounts of gas and written three dull pages of this dull, dull book; and now I am going downstairs to make chicken soup and eat cods' roes on toast. By taking the chicken makin's out of the freezer, I will make room for the cods' roes to go in, which will be good; but the soup will take time and I want to eat now, so I shall eat some of the cods' roes anyway when what I really want is the soup. That does not exist yet.

But I can have bigos for supper. Unless by then I am still wanting soup. Oh, the endless juggling that is my life.

His very own and golden soup

I haz no barley. I thought I hadzt barley, but I hadztn't.

How can I make chicken soup without Wesker barley?

[ETA: on the plus side, though, there was a crayfish tail in with my cods' roes. I was just preparing them in highly-seasoned flour when my fingers found spikies. Cods' roes exist somewhere down the opposite end of the texture-spectrum from spikies, so I looked: one crayfish tail! Just the one. Don't know if that puts me up or down in the money score, but I was delighted. And it was delicious, shelled and fried in with the roes but fished out and eaten on its own, as a chef's perk...]

Sweet surrender

Okay, I have sat here for an hour and a half. I have read a lot of LJ. I have written a few posts, and a couple of e-mails, and a blurb for this season's Phantoms gig.

And, um, half a page of book?

I feel crap and I'm going to bed.