Sitting out in the garden after dinner, with S and the kids and Uncle. Feeling like Uncle is really part of the family…I mean, he’s always been a part of MY family, but he’s part of the family unit, even if he’s slightly (with good reason) afraid of the little ones.
Porkchops with mushrooms and rice. Nice and hearty, stick to your ribs kind of dinner. Boy and girl both really enjoyed the pork. Next time will pair with more G friendly sides. Or maybe just some sliced apples.
I DID NOT MAKE THE PORK CHOPS!!!! That’s right. S made dinner. I even took a photo for proof. To be fair, he has made pasta once and rice and beans once, although even he admitted it was more like mess hall cooking. It’s nice to not have to cook and still eat a square meal at home.
Got some writing done in my book. Not an hour’s worth of work, but I did manage about 500 words. Slowly, I think I am building my practice back up.
Read some of my old poetry. Some was too private and obscure and symbol laden, but some was actually good.
Wrote a poem. And another something that might count as a poem or perhaps serve as the start of another poem. Poetry is one of those muscles that need to be exercised in order to be functional.
Fell asleep after dinner, and woke up 20 minutes later not feeling worse… which all actually means I am getting sick. I don’t nap unless I am sick, I can’t. That’s not a happy thing, really, but it explains my abominable mood. So it’s not me that’s the bitch, it’s my cold.