Strange connections
Nov. 21st, 2008 08:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meirwen_1988FWIW, I hate XPlay in its current incarnation. But I guess I'm not the primary target audience.
So...Morguhn loved hotdogs. I love hotdogs (my big guilty pleasure--fat, nitrites, the more goop on them the better [this from the woman who hates more than 2 things on a pizza], but I digress). So this summer I put up a bunch of hotdogs in two dog packs for The Boy. That was August. He didn't get through many of the packs. My hotdogs (the fat free type) are hidden under "whatever" and after the supremely shitty afternoon I had, I had no patience for cooking, vegetables (other than a handful of grape tomatos), or anything else that required thought, including looking for my hotdogs, especially since Duchezz is out at a dinner for work. So, I took out one of his packages of hotdogs, thawed out 2 one point hotdog rolls, and got out a frying pan. Half an hour later, they were done (see why I wasn't capable of cooking), I took out a Saranac Brown Ale, and, well, that was dinner.
Point the first: I can no longer eat two full fat hotdogs for dinner without pain.
Point the second: After the shitty afternoon I had, eating food I'd put up for him, with a beer, on a mostly empty stomach, may be one of the stupidest things I've done in the last, oh, gee, exactly two months since he fell off the fucking roof.
In addition, because I'm not feeling crappy enough otherwise, the genuine physical ordeal of the shitty afternoon seems to have turned my hovering cold into a full force mucus fest, I have to sing tomorrow, and we're in a winter storm advisory and Duchezz and I can't travel together because of other obligations. I am tired, grumpy, hurting physically and emotionally, sick, and, well, just generally inclined to crawl into bed, pull the covers up over my head, and come out sometime next July. No, scratch that--that's the Irish Festival and that's another emotional hurdle that's gonna kick me in the teeth. June. Maybe June. Nope, that's the month he asked me to sleep with him for the first time....Shit. Yeah. Maybe just pull the covers over my head and not come out.
Oh. Right. Promised.
As one of my most treasured friends told me to tell myself--"Not today."
Not today.
So...Morguhn loved hotdogs. I love hotdogs (my big guilty pleasure--fat, nitrites, the more goop on them the better [this from the woman who hates more than 2 things on a pizza], but I digress). So this summer I put up a bunch of hotdogs in two dog packs for The Boy. That was August. He didn't get through many of the packs. My hotdogs (the fat free type) are hidden under "whatever" and after the supremely shitty afternoon I had, I had no patience for cooking, vegetables (other than a handful of grape tomatos), or anything else that required thought, including looking for my hotdogs, especially since Duchezz is out at a dinner for work. So, I took out one of his packages of hotdogs, thawed out 2 one point hotdog rolls, and got out a frying pan. Half an hour later, they were done (see why I wasn't capable of cooking), I took out a Saranac Brown Ale, and, well, that was dinner.
Point the first: I can no longer eat two full fat hotdogs for dinner without pain.
Point the second: After the shitty afternoon I had, eating food I'd put up for him, with a beer, on a mostly empty stomach, may be one of the stupidest things I've done in the last, oh, gee, exactly two months since he fell off the fucking roof.
In addition, because I'm not feeling crappy enough otherwise, the genuine physical ordeal of the shitty afternoon seems to have turned my hovering cold into a full force mucus fest, I have to sing tomorrow, and we're in a winter storm advisory and Duchezz and I can't travel together because of other obligations. I am tired, grumpy, hurting physically and emotionally, sick, and, well, just generally inclined to crawl into bed, pull the covers up over my head, and come out sometime next July. No, scratch that--that's the Irish Festival and that's another emotional hurdle that's gonna kick me in the teeth. June. Maybe June. Nope, that's the month he asked me to sleep with him for the first time....Shit. Yeah. Maybe just pull the covers over my head and not come out.
Oh. Right. Promised.
As one of my most treasured friends told me to tell myself--"Not today."
Not today.
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no subject
Date: 2008-11-22 09:30 pm (UTC)