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Dec. 18th, 2002 03:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pameladeanMore gray days. Yesterday spat freezing rain, causing me to worry about Eric, going about on his bicycle to take an evening exam. However, he said quite cheerfully, for a Californian, that the temperature was above freezing so he was only wet.
Papersky's writing energy is trickling in. It must be spread out over a large distance. I envision people in farmhouses and apartments, hikers and telephone workers and small children, suddenly writing a haiku, or thinking, Oh, look, an idea for a short story, or suddenly starting a journal, as it makes its long way west.
Either that or it's all here but my basic nature has damped it down. 400 words in the past two days, anyway. And I've got an idea about the architecture that was so confounding me. I will say for the characters that they are perfectly willing to talk their heads off, and that at the moment they are welcome to do so.
I wish Tor would buy the damn thing already. We could use the money and I'd like to know what kind of deadline I'm looking at.
My cat is squashed between my back and the back of my chair, which is warm but not, I fear, very ergonomic. He won't sit on my lap. He likes the laps of long-legged people, favoring Raphael or David above me.
My flu-shot reaction is mostly past, though my arm is still sore. I had no idea that I used my left shoulder all the time. I had no idea I habitually used it to shove open the swinging door between dining room and kitchen. Ow.
I am profoundly sick of cooking, but it has not been betraying me too badly, aside from my having bought some amazingly awful oregano at the corner store. I'm going to toss the rest of it. I made red beans and rice with cornbread on Monday and the old standby, pasta in red sauce with soy crumbles, but enlivened by salad and fresh-herb-and-olive-oil scones. The original scone recipe is not vegan, but an extra dollop of olive oil instead of the egg, soy milk, and soy "Parmesan," make a very good approximation.
Eric is coming for dinner tonight and will help me cook whatever it is. I think probably chicken-style seitan with serrano peppers, bok choy, and peapods. This is an adaptation of Cheng Du Chicken, the recipe originally having come from our friend Charlotte in Massachusetts. It calls for celery, but she had already substituted the bok choy before passing it on.
If I am really lucky, I get to go home with Eric after dinner. We have not gotten to have many midweek dates this semester, and he's going to California for a while after finals are over, so this is pleasing to contemplate.
I need to go for my daily walk and order the groceries before the whole making-dinner madhouse begins.
Pamela
Papersky's writing energy is trickling in. It must be spread out over a large distance. I envision people in farmhouses and apartments, hikers and telephone workers and small children, suddenly writing a haiku, or thinking, Oh, look, an idea for a short story, or suddenly starting a journal, as it makes its long way west.
Either that or it's all here but my basic nature has damped it down. 400 words in the past two days, anyway. And I've got an idea about the architecture that was so confounding me. I will say for the characters that they are perfectly willing to talk their heads off, and that at the moment they are welcome to do so.
I wish Tor would buy the damn thing already. We could use the money and I'd like to know what kind of deadline I'm looking at.
My cat is squashed between my back and the back of my chair, which is warm but not, I fear, very ergonomic. He won't sit on my lap. He likes the laps of long-legged people, favoring Raphael or David above me.
My flu-shot reaction is mostly past, though my arm is still sore. I had no idea that I used my left shoulder all the time. I had no idea I habitually used it to shove open the swinging door between dining room and kitchen. Ow.
I am profoundly sick of cooking, but it has not been betraying me too badly, aside from my having bought some amazingly awful oregano at the corner store. I'm going to toss the rest of it. I made red beans and rice with cornbread on Monday and the old standby, pasta in red sauce with soy crumbles, but enlivened by salad and fresh-herb-and-olive-oil scones. The original scone recipe is not vegan, but an extra dollop of olive oil instead of the egg, soy milk, and soy "Parmesan," make a very good approximation.
Eric is coming for dinner tonight and will help me cook whatever it is. I think probably chicken-style seitan with serrano peppers, bok choy, and peapods. This is an adaptation of Cheng Du Chicken, the recipe originally having come from our friend Charlotte in Massachusetts. It calls for celery, but she had already substituted the bok choy before passing it on.
If I am really lucky, I get to go home with Eric after dinner. We have not gotten to have many midweek dates this semester, and he's going to California for a while after finals are over, so this is pleasing to contemplate.
I need to go for my daily walk and order the groceries before the whole making-dinner madhouse begins.
Pamela
