The Ink-Pot and the Palette

I tried that this morning. It wasn't successful. I was about a quarter-mile into my ride to work, already quite late, and just...turned around and came home. No lung power. So tired--even after almost twelve hours of sleep--that I just couldn't go the remaining 3.75 miles.

(And no, St Patrick's Day was not involved. St Paddy's is also my mother's birthday, and we are a family of recovering alcoholics and addicts, so there is never any booze about, or even junk food for that matter, and, in short, it was a pleasant and abstemious little evening.)

It's probably the walkin' noooo-monia, to which I am more susceptible than to most things. A bit lungish, that's me.

So, doff helmet and raincoat, change out of somewhat constraining work attire (though Assets by Sara Blakely are awesome as misogynistic torture garments of the "you are not good enough as you are" kind go), don comfy cardigan and fuzzy slippers, and make a massive pot of tea.

And here I am. I think today would be a good day to start that new novel.

Had to call in sick this morning: I feel like there's a wrestler sitting on my chest, Rhinovirus The Mighty or someone. I sound like a bullfrog. I'm eating chicken soup. It's pathetic.

ravurian has hooked me on Being Human, and though I really do try to limit my TV-show intake, I'm afraid I've scarfed up all of Series 1 and most of Series 2 in the last couple of days. It's wonderful! Brings back memories of some of the best and most thoughtful aspects of Buffy and Angel (I think some of the hommage is actually quite specific), while being its own unique take on monsters.

If you haven't seen it, "A vampire, a werewolf and a ghost walk into a bar..." might easily have been its starting premise, but, like Misfits ("There are these delinquents, see, with really crap super-powers...:), it takes the joke to some very dark places, with some excellent writing and acting. Also like Misfits, Being Human is very funny, though it lacks those American-style "Okay, laugh here" cues that this American viewer is used to.

Okay, soup is consumed, keyboard-unfriendly navel orange awaits, and I think I'll go finish off Series 2. Thanks, ravurian!

I've got a cold. The kind where you actually feel cold. It's sniffle-snuffle-sneeze and a box of tissues on the table, and though I did get out today to run some errands, I'm glad to be quietly in and writing this evening.

I'm doing a little reforming of my eating which, under the ægis of learning to be gluten-free, I've let get a little out of hand in respect to non-wheat things like butter, sugar and dairy. In this pursuit, I did three things today: I put my five-dollar garage-sale espresso machine away and got a French press (this will vastly cut down on the amount of milk I drink, because I always make lattes); I put my heavy KitchenAid stand mixer away in a low cabinet (this will prevent impulse baking); and I made soup: Black-bean-chard-leek-potato-garlic-beef soup.

( In other words, sneaking in more vegetables. )

Pretty tasty. Warming and nutritious.

Oh, and fueled by soup, Chapter 31 is almost done!