Lately I've been sleeping on my stomach with my arms folded up over my head, my face resting on top of my pillow with my interlocked fingers underneath. Every time I fall asleep in that position, I wake up several hours later to find both arms completely numb and unmovable. Then it takes several minutes of rocking my body slowly back and forth until I can manuever my still-functioning shoulders into a position from which they can swing my arms back beneath my head where, eventually and after the WORST PAIN EVER, they return to usability. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna die.
Anyway, tonight Sarah threw a turkey breast in the oven for use in a few meals throughout the rest of the week. Meanwhile I seared a couple steaks and Sarah heated up some rice pilaf and peas.
When the steak was done, I made a quick pan sauce with the crusty bits and some red wine, then we set about eating our 1957ish suburbany meal. I washed it down with Summit's fun but mostly-unbalanced Horizon Red Ale, and we waited for our turkey to finish cooking while talking about where we wanted to go for our Thursday night supper out.
Some people (and incorporeal food journals) might think it's a bad sign to talk about a future meal while cooking another after having just finished a third. I would point my middle finger directly at them, provided it wasn't the dead of night and I still had full use of my hands.
No comments:
Post a Comment