So it’s Tuesday, right. Tuesdays are for writing. That’s my new thing. I like to get a big ole four-hour chunk done, which propels me into writing for the rest of the week. And if I start by noon, that’s fine. But if I start by eleven, then I get a nap before work, so I’m really going to try to prop my eyes open and move my fingers.
Although I might write from bed. Right now I’m on the couch. But the bed is warm. Where IS the heater guy? I called to try to get service through the home warranty and requested a different heater guy, since the last one never showed or called back after he missed the appointment. A different guy called yesterday and said, "So, can we come by at 7am?" I called back and left a message, "No, seven is bad. Noon is good." He called again this morning at six forty-five and asked if he could come by. "No, it’s still not a good time. I’m, um, leaving." "Right now?" He could tell by the way that I was barely forming syllables that I probably wasn’t going anywhere, but come on, that’s just silly. "Right now. I’ll be back at noon." He said, "We’ll see what we can do," and hung up, so I don’t think I really even have an appointment.
All this stuff confuses me.
Kira astounded me again last night. They have this thing about picking the very few things I don’t like in life (eggplant, squash) and making it taste great. Last night was okra — usually slimy, snotty goo, in my book. But they made it into bhindi masala, and it was sublime. Truly. Tangy and spicy and sweet and NO slime at all. I eat better at the vegans’ house than I normally ever do. (Also, go out right now and buy some Vegan Chocolate Chip cookies from Trader Joe’s. Unreal.)
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