I’ve had sort of a capslocky few weeks, i think. all within the realm of regular first-world disaster type things… car breaks down by the side of the road, yearly grief over the loss of my father, several strangers online asking me for money making me feel like a chump, my aunt making fun of my weight, a pipe bursting the day before i host thirty of my favorite extended family (including that aunt… giving her the perfect opportunity to see me for the first time in a year and ask me if i like donuts too much …) ceilings dripping with fierce abandon… as a general rule, if not in a horror movie or in a swamp plantation, the ceiling is not meant to drip. just saying.
i fed thirty people. my vegetarian lasagna was not terrible. the soup was called delicious. natasha’s kitchen by the way…sweet potato and coconut milk… i made mine bacon free, with veggie stock… the vegetarian i thought i had –is a devoted meat eater. so we all had more veggies than normal, and we’re all okay.
and then we had desserts…
it is a rough potluck, so i’m not saying i made all the food. AT ALL.
my 73 year old mother made a lasagna that got raves and put a ham on the table… my sister made a gigantic kale/brussel/apple salad that kicked some ass. there was another salad..(from she who currently is not to be named) and turnip, cheese, rolls and pie and pie and pie and chocolate things…
we are fed. we are grateful.
my stress level did include a whole lot of third-personing, but i’ve stopped now.
and i never even had a cigarette. that whole time. but i do admit, it is rising to mythological, how much I want to… angels, choirs… athena, diana… didn’t they catch a quick smoke just fine? … all that… i think i might end up tippling zeus on the porch…. as a substitute…
sigh . i’m fine. but i’m tired of character building.
its that song… spun on high speed… ‘we are joyful, we are joyful’… super highspeed.
thats my inner world as the whole house vibrates with the industrial sized dryer that is pointed at the ceiling in the other room.
so be it.
resistance is futile.
(my aunt is just that way. i love her anyhow. i’m still going to eat donuts. my curves are rubenesque and the men just love them.)
