Everything is contained in something else

[desperance]

Okay, things are in other things. The pies are in the oven; the leftover raw pastry is in Mac (milk! lard! flour! nom-nom-nom! It's probably awfully bad for him, but I do get tired of yelling); the leftover pork-meats in their herby goodness are in the bolognese sauce (yes, honestly. It's traditional: beef and pork, in combo, and cook for hours). The marrow chutney is in abeyance until tomorrow, because I have quit.

Not yet all the wine is in me, but we're getting there. Also, yummy crispy porky snacks.

Calm. Calm is in me, too. Until tomorrow. Maybe something will happen, by tomorrow?