Sunday

I've just finished reading a book called Julie & Julia, a non-fiction about a woman who decides to make every recipe in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking within one year in her tiny apartment kitchen. I loved it because this is the kind of thing I'd think of doing myself, and because this woman cooks the way I do: ingredients splattered all over the stove, walls, floor, fridge like some kind of violent crime scene, sweating, swearing like a sailor, total intimidation by huge hunks of meat, and episodes like this:
"... when realizing at the very moment I'm meant to add boiling milk to the rapidly darkening roux that I have not in fact put the milk on to boil."
I've done that. (more than once.)

People who don't enjoy cooking assume that to enjoy it is to be good at it. That's nonsense. You could love baseball even if you batted a (what's a bad baseball score? a 1.0? it's like GPA, right?) I enjoy bowling even though I usually bowl less than 100, because to me it's a social thing, a change of scene from a barstool. I love to cook, I cook enthusiatically; but no, I'm not great at it. That's the impression that this Julie woman gives-- that it's a labor of love.

So, now I'm in the mood to butcher an ox and cook it for dinner, but I've been invited to a party instead. I don't think they'd appreciate ox so I'll bring beer instead.

I got to sleep in extra late today because of Daylight Savings reverting to normal and b/c of my period, which gives me the right to say to HELL with it, I'm sleeping till noon, with the heating pad and some of D's prescription muscle relaxers. I didn't even notice that it was 4 or 5 days late this month, because why would it matter? Using that ultra-fail-safe birth control called abstinence means that I haven't been counting days. But as far as that goes it might be getting better soon. I think. D seems cheefuller of late, and less-in-pain than he was before. He's at work now doing the end-of-month report stuff.

Why does the heating pad say that you can't put it between yourself and the bed? That's so stupid. Of course that's where it goes.

Well if I'm going out tonight I have to get ready for tomorrow, I'm opening at the bank for the first time in months. Must iron clothes, wash dishes, pack lunch because I'll be useless in the morning after sleeping in for so many days and having to be there before 7:00 in the morning.