In which I am confused, again
Apr. 19th, 2011 06:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceI am having serious trouble with the notion of its being Tuesday today. I keep needing to remind myself that it is not in fact Saturday: that the weekend lies behind and not ahead.
Thing is, I went down to Sunderland last night for dinner with three generations of Talbots; and stayed overnight as I always do, and lingered for a walk and lunch down by the riverside, and it was all lovely, but these are all things that ordinarily happen over Friday night and Saturday morning, so. *is terminally bewildered*
Also having serious trouble coming to terms with the notion that I ought to do some serious work. I'm sort of fiddling around at the moment: proofreading and playing with story ideas and putting off rewrites, largely. What I really need to be doing is generating new proposals, on account of having no contracts and no commissions, effectively no publisher; but that very absence of commitment sucks away my own, in a what's-the-bloody-point? sort of way.
It'll come back, no doubt. Something will happen; something always does. (Is that magical thinking, or the voice of experience? It is my experience, that something always turns up; on the other hand, it has been many other people's experience that actually that cannot be relied upon. So I should probably stop relying on it.)
In other news, I have no idea what I'm having for dinner tonight. It's on the stove, heating gently. I just don't know what it is yet. It's got green beans in, and lumps of flesh that might well be chicken, and a brown sauciness that is probably curried in some description. When it's warm, it'll tell me more about itself. At the moment it's a bit of a mystery.
EtA: not chicken, not curry. That's well-stewed beef, that is. And the sauce is hot but not otherwise very spicy, or not in an Indian kind of way; and there is a sweetness in there, a fruity sweetness. I'm thinking perhaps this is residual tagine. I suspect prunes. Beef and prunes: does that sound at all likely to you?
Thing is, I went down to Sunderland last night for dinner with three generations of Talbots; and stayed overnight as I always do, and lingered for a walk and lunch down by the riverside, and it was all lovely, but these are all things that ordinarily happen over Friday night and Saturday morning, so. *is terminally bewildered*
Also having serious trouble coming to terms with the notion that I ought to do some serious work. I'm sort of fiddling around at the moment: proofreading and playing with story ideas and putting off rewrites, largely. What I really need to be doing is generating new proposals, on account of having no contracts and no commissions, effectively no publisher; but that very absence of commitment sucks away my own, in a what's-the-bloody-point? sort of way.
It'll come back, no doubt. Something will happen; something always does. (Is that magical thinking, or the voice of experience? It is my experience, that something always turns up; on the other hand, it has been many other people's experience that actually that cannot be relied upon. So I should probably stop relying on it.)
In other news, I have no idea what I'm having for dinner tonight. It's on the stove, heating gently. I just don't know what it is yet. It's got green beans in, and lumps of flesh that might well be chicken, and a brown sauciness that is probably curried in some description. When it's warm, it'll tell me more about itself. At the moment it's a bit of a mystery.
EtA: not chicken, not curry. That's well-stewed beef, that is. And the sauce is hot but not otherwise very spicy, or not in an Indian kind of way; and there is a sweetness in there, a fruity sweetness. I'm thinking perhaps this is residual tagine. I suspect prunes. Beef and prunes: does that sound at all likely to you?