It turns out I could cook after all, and assorted mundanity. in The Big, Blue, House. Year two.

I woke up at ten, and put away some laundry, but I was still groggy; so I took a third of a Benadryl and went back to sleep. Then I woke up at four, and set out to find food. My nutrition has gone to hell in favor of nostalgic, white trash, southern food. Abandon the physical health to give balm to the psychological. Fried catfish, rice pilaf with chicken fat.

But I’m making my own food, after decades of not doing that, so go me. My parents instilled in me an irrational fear of stoves, so it’s all air fryer and microwave. Which is fine, since it’s a bit hot for “proper” cooking anyway.

I was mocked for years by my various exes for not being able to cook. Turns out I can cook just fine, if a stove isn’t involved. My parents wouldn’t let me near one. My father thought I’d hurt myself, and my mother thought I was incompetent. So I didn’t learn to fry a hamburger or anything else until my now long-dead ex-husband taught me.

Weird how I’m just now realizing, since I can cook with the air fryer just fine, just how much my parent’s attitudes about me cooking affected me.

And consequently how much cooking anything on the stove, like the hamburgers I made I for Don last night, reminds me of the dead ex. He was an objectively horrible person, but he wasn’t 100% bad. He did leave me with some valuable life skills. In addition to a criminal record, a poor tattoo, and broken nose.

It makes me wonder if all of the people filling our prisons for even the more heinous crimes have some, however small, positive qualities. Ted Bundy volunteered at a suicide hotline, after all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Don’s anxiously awaiting the arrival of some artificial flowers, floral wire, and foam. He’s making a real project out of that big, silver vase. It reminds him of his Grandmother, whom he adored.

He’s been working in the yard for the last week or so. In his round sunglasses, with the silver gray goatee, he looks a bit like Doctor Nefario, out there weed eating, and planting flowers. Minus the ginormous gut, or the lab coat. I told him that. He says, “I don’t care.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~｡⋆｡˚ ʚïɞ ˚｡⋆｡*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

My laser stars/nebula light-thing for the upstairs bathroom arrived today.

This thing:

It looks neat on the living room ceiling in broad daylight. I’m hoping it makes soaking in the tub that little bit more fun.