Pierogi haaates companyI've been something of a loaf lately. Strange how the jetsam of daily life (kick these shoes off , set this bill here) and boxes still unpacked from our May 2011 move (!) write themselves into my visual map of the apartment. Never met a mess I didn't want to step over. The Superwoman go-go-go gene that most of my friends have? I was born without it. It's a happy defect.
Nick has class in the evenings this winter and I've been getting home from work past dark. The gym might as well be on the moon for how likely it is that I'll get myself there, even though I know it improves my mood. Yeah, I've been stepping over messes, reheating frozen soup, and reading in bed most evenings. Sounds like a caricature of depression, but I sincerely love leftovers, soup, and books. (I come by it honestly. My mom and I agree that a few months of incarceration might agree with us. Imagine all the reading we'd get done!) A guilty ghost of productivity sort of looms above the bed, reminding me of my Master's thesis, the absurd amount of laundry that two toilet-trained humans manage to generate, the fact that we've got an entire room of precious space that we've yet to make functional. And I say, shut up, Ghost, now roll me over so I don't get a bedsore.
The above photo is evidence that I've not been a complete shut-in. Brigit hosted a Chopped-themed dinner party where we competed against each other based on prescribed ingredients. I did win my category, which I contend was only because my submission was deep-fried. All the food was killer, though. Good job, guys.