There’s not much going on around here at the moment. We all seem to have various degrees of illness. Darin has felt woozy, feverish, and chilly, and although this didn’t stop him from going to work yesterday, it did cause co-workers to call him “kind of dopey” because he was, it seems, somewhat of an idiot in meetings. (Yes, unlike most of us, when Darin acts stupid other people notice. He felt better today and had a better day at work.) Simon has had non-stop sinus congestion and Sophia…well, Sophia’s always healthy; she mostly suffers bad hair days. Me, I’ve had this cough that won’t go away.
Won’t. Go. Away.
Tonight in bed I lay there, perfectly still, thinking, “This is it, this is the time, I’m finally going to COUGH HACK COUGH COUGH.” I described it to Darin as having a dry tickle in my throat that can only be eased by coughing. “You know that’s going to get worse if you keep doing that,” he said. So rather than keep both of us awake waiting for the magical moment when the itch in my throat would stop bothering me, I have come downstairs to drink herbal tea with honey and hope against hope that this soothes my system enough to let me get to sleep.
As it’s 1am and I’m still sitting here, I’m beginning to think not.
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Tonight for dinner I made: roast chicken with rosemary-lemon-garlic rub (very tasty), along with roast quarters of sweet potato and broccoli, plus a wild rice-and-mushroom stuffing from Whole Foods (will not buy that a second time—as Darin put it, “You’ll never hear me use this word again, but this was overseasoned”). A very satisfying meal and fairly easy to put together. And I never thought I’d hear myself say that.
I want to make something for Sugar High Fridays 5. Puff pastry is a wonderful thing, is it not? More accurately, store-bought puff pastry is, ’cause there ain’t no way in hell I’m making that from scratch. I think I even know what I’m going to make; I just have to work up the energy to do it already.
When I’m feeling sick, the idea of doing fancy pastries (even with store-bought dough) is less than thrilling. More accurately, I want someone to make me a fancy pastry, not the other way around. Sigh.