Apparently the beginning of the
last blog was a wee bit…um…unintelligible? The person who told me is one who I trust and
therefore I haven’t even bothered to go back and read to confirm. She’s probably right. I know that by the time I had posted it, I
was mentally done in. It was almost out
of a sense of desperation that I finally hit the ‘publish’ button just so that
I didn't have to look at it again. It’s
not that I didn't like what I wrote (Sort of sounds arrogant doesn't it? Liking my own stuff?) But it took me so long
to write that paltry little entry that I felt it a waste of breath. Still I carry on trying to fulfill my
promise. I apologize if your eyes bled
and your brain hurt after reading Day 4.
Don’t throw fruit at me because I’m liable to pick it up and eat
it. That wouldn't be a good thing.
You will note that I have been
unable to keep up with my promise for a daily blog, not well or in a timely
fashion at least. Blame Saturday and
Sunday please. If not for those two days
I surely would not miss. But alas right
now I’m basically playing catch up. So
here goes:
Day 5 – Sunday I woke up feeling
exhausted. That’s never a good sign. May be it was all that samosa making. If I saw one more samosa again ever, I
probably would throw a massive fit or curl into a ball and weep like a baby. That gives you a fair idea of how much time I
spent the day before rolling out, stuffing and modeling (the dough, not me). Then there was the electricity outage that
served as a bad lullaby. I may have
slept but it was fitful and full of sweaty dreams. I don’t
think, upon awaking that morning, my body was in any mood to listen to my mind
which was reciting the long list of things that needed to be done. In fact my body mass was pretty much dead
weight as it laid there, eyes trained onto the ceiling, all brain commands being
ignored. P at one point came and peered
at me closely to see if I was awake or asleep.
When I sluggishly blinked, he pulled back in surprise. He told me I was lying too still for a person
who was indeed in her senses. That
about summed it up.
Finally my subconscious was
kicking up a ruckus which grated on my nerves enough to cause me to really
ponder again the to-do list that was even then being added to mentally (I think
I hoped that I had enough time to go back to sleep if it wasn't all that
tedious…fat chance) which in essence sent me into a spiral of
freaking-out-ness. That isn't a word or
phrase but it is for the purpose of this blog.
I had a pile of things to do and by lying like a sloth in bed was not
going to get any of it done. So I
climbed out giving it one last mournful, pitiful,
I-so-love-you-and-shall-miss-you-desperately look at the soft mattress that was
literally calling for me to come back to it and off I went. That day the agenda was to make chicken
patties. Those are basically puff pastry
pockets stuffed with ground chicken. My
mission was to make and freeze around 60 of them them so that on the day of my
big shindig all I would have to do was throw them on a baking sheet, paint them
with a little egg wash and bake to golden perfection until puffy. (Dang, my mouth waters no matter if I’m
thinking about chicken patties or even a granola bar. Drat)
Pretty much all of Sunday was
spent in this endeavor and by the time I was done my being was covered in flour
from head to toe. Seriously, somewhere
between start to finish, the flour bag attacked me. It was an epic battle but I came out the
winner however the bag gave as good as it got.
At the end though I did a few fist pumps much like Rocky Balboa and ran
around the kitchen island victorious.
Um…maybe that’s all a wee bit of
an exaggeration but I was mighty pleased with myself as I slipped the last of
the unbaked patties into the freezer and equally horrified when I gazed into
the mirror. How someone gets flour
behind their neck will remain a mystery to me.
After showering, cleaning up a bit and praying, I sat down to watch
something nonsensical on television. I
was aiming for mindless, like any Mel Brooks flicks (and if you know me, you
know that I am a HUGE fan of Mr. Brooks!).
However by now most can figure out that I never do quite what I intend
hence when P came down to announce that he was going to bed, he stopped short
and gaped at the television. “You like
foreign films?” He asked in
astonishment.
It irritated me that he seemed so
darn shocked (clearly he didn't think I had depths when it came to watching of
movies…hmph, after 16 years one would think the fool would though, right?) but I didn't have the strength to even scowl
so I nodded as my eyes stayed glued to the movie I had chosen. A Korean flick about a woman, who weighed 200
lbs., loved to sing and ended up having plastic surgery because she was just so
miserable with her weight and of course wanted to get the guy…okay sounds
stupid but really it was good. And I
watched that till it was time to go to bed and let me tell you, I again pondered
whether sleeping somewhere on the stairs wouldn't be so bad. P would just wake me up in the morning,
hopefully not trip upon me as he was heading off to work. These were the thoughts that often go through
my head. Yes, I’m special that way. Don’t be judging. Suffice it to say I made it up to bed no
worse for the wear (actually I was gasping with exhaustion as I literally
flopped into bed) and fell off to sleep without another thought.
Onto Day 6…
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