No more false summits
Nov. 18th, 2009 06:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceOkay. Last ten pages: extra snackage, extra druggage, extra wine. Just to see me through.
(Today's snackage, since you ask, is croutons of my own barley-and-rye bread, fried in olive oil with chunks of my own ham.)(And no - since you ask - I did not raise, slaughter and salt the nether regions of my own pig, any more than I grew my own cereals. I may be sufficient unto myself, but am not self-sufficient. Not in a little broken-windowed house with no garden in the midst of the inner city. And I would hate to be a farmer.)
(The boys want extra snackage too, but I am ruthless. My lack of ruth, let me show you it.)
(Today's snackage, since you ask, is croutons of my own barley-and-rye bread, fried in olive oil with chunks of my own ham.)(And no - since you ask - I did not raise, slaughter and salt the nether regions of my own pig, any more than I grew my own cereals. I may be sufficient unto myself, but am not self-sufficient. Not in a little broken-windowed house with no garden in the midst of the inner city. And I would hate to be a farmer.)
(The boys want extra snackage too, but I am ruthless. My lack of ruth, let me show you it.)