It’s so cold my laptop is freezing my fingers off, and what I really feel like doing is making a potato salad. I’m the only one at home and potato salad is an iffy dinner choice for small lad, even if paired with sausages. And sauce. And dinner is eight hours away. Harumph.
I’m a hospital scientist, and this is my day off.
I’m annoyed by everything at the moment, but mostly because I didn’t sleep enough on my day of sleep in between, went to work Tuesday and didn’t do my best. I spent yesterday evening second-guessing what I’d done the morning before and please, brain, just lay off. I didn’t fuck up, I was just slow.
Other than poo-pooing myself, this kind of annoyance has no particular focus, I can pick up anywhere and start ranting. For hours. I don’t want to inflict that on anyone or deal with the consequences of shouting at random people, so I shut up. Which also annoys me, and gee I love this spiralling gyre leading inevitably down to mind-numbing, eye-squinting, teeth-clenching rage if I don’t get out of my own head. Soon everything will be in caps.
Cooking would make me feel better, but small lad and I have entered some kind of power struggle over food…and it stinks. I know better, and it hasn’t been an issue (much) before - a dietician friend had clued me in before small lad came along about how to feed a littl’un. We’ve always been fairly relaxed about food, and careful about what’s on offer. Some junk, of course, but beyond the Coco Pops and occasional crap (fast food, in other words), it’s meat and three veg or variations thereupon (by which I probably mean fruit, but don’t take my word for anything today).
But small lad’s tastes are changing and I’m struggling to keep up. Dammit. Some of it, too, is my fault. He has a habit of asking what he can have to eat in the afternoons after school, and I tried out letting him decide what to eat - with the proviso that he’d have to eat dinner. It didn’t work, and dinner time started being a struggle. Gah.
Today I have half-arsed plans about something that isn’t sitting around (boom-boom) “resting” where I usually fall asleep right before the murderer gets caught, but I’ve only gotten as far as what I don’t want to do. This two-on-two-off bit of my roster is the pits. I should probably start drinking coffee again.
My laptop has warmed up and my fingers are no longer freezing, so that’s something, and when I’m finished here I’m going to make a cup of tea. Mmmmmm, tea.
Mmmmm. I need that tea. Take care, and laters.
