Am I done yet? Would you call me done?

[desperance]

So I have tidied out the fridge, and shopped for corned beef and smoked ham and cooked same, ready for the lobscouse tomorrow; and messages have flown back and forth, and people know where to come and are bringing some of the things I lack; and myself I plan to make lobscouse and côôôôq au vin and at least one suet pudding; and I'll bake some breads to go alongside, and after that people are on their own. I'll be the one in the corner, slumping gently as my bones give slow way to alcohol.

And now I must put things away until tomorrow, and tidy up the kitchen; and then am I done? May I stop? *pokes self, to see if he is tender*