Evidence of absence
Oct. 6th, 2010 12:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceIt's actually almost a relief, to go back to the dentist and have him take one look and say, "Oh goodness, yes, there's something nasty going on in there." At least it means I'm not making a fuss about nothing.
Instead, it means I have to go back again next week so that he can pursue presumptive slivers of ghost-tooth down deep in the socket where it sat, oh joy.
The other good news is that he pondered long and hard and eventually decided against putting me back on the vile antibiotics. Yet.
Which is just as well, as I intend to drink tonight. To excess, probably. I am cooking: just for Gail and Kay, and even so I'm getting stressed already. I appear to have gone all French, after recent cultural immersion: I have made rillettes and sweet'n'sour plums, I'm cooking pigs' cheeks and Puy lentils in cream and mustard, I'm hoping to recreate a poor man's version of the pasta-flambee'd-in-whisky-and-sage-and-parmesan.
Also, I am inventing a raspberry-and-almond cake, while at the same time inventing how to use the food mixer that I was given many moons ago, as my corporeal body really is not up to cakey mixing. It feels like a lot of machinery to make one little cake, and I'm not wholly persuaded yet; but it did save my poor shoulders all that work. And it's probably just as well not to be a convert, as I suspect that if I loved it I'd probably want to upgrade to something new and smart, and those things are expensive.
It would be a better thing if I snarled less at the cats; also if I could manage to carry things without dropping same. Maybe I need to start that drinking soon?
Instead, it means I have to go back again next week so that he can pursue presumptive slivers of ghost-tooth down deep in the socket where it sat, oh joy.
The other good news is that he pondered long and hard and eventually decided against putting me back on the vile antibiotics. Yet.
Which is just as well, as I intend to drink tonight. To excess, probably. I am cooking: just for Gail and Kay, and even so I'm getting stressed already. I appear to have gone all French, after recent cultural immersion: I have made rillettes and sweet'n'sour plums, I'm cooking pigs' cheeks and Puy lentils in cream and mustard, I'm hoping to recreate a poor man's version of the pasta-flambee'd-in-whisky-and-sage-and-parmesan.
Also, I am inventing a raspberry-and-almond cake, while at the same time inventing how to use the food mixer that I was given many moons ago, as my corporeal body really is not up to cakey mixing. It feels like a lot of machinery to make one little cake, and I'm not wholly persuaded yet; but it did save my poor shoulders all that work. And it's probably just as well not to be a convert, as I suspect that if I loved it I'd probably want to upgrade to something new and smart, and those things are expensive.
It would be a better thing if I snarled less at the cats; also if I could manage to carry things without dropping same. Maybe I need to start that drinking soon?