I love how my body delights in telling me I’m stressed out. Yesterday it was the shoulders, today it’s the tummy. And yes, I ate breakfast. I’ve not starved the poor thing. At least not today.

Someone woke me up this morning by trying (again) to open my front door. I swear that is getting very, very old. Next time I’m just getting up, as is, and whipping the door open and screaming in their face, and then closing it again. Maybe the shock will make them remember that it’s the wrong one. All I have to say is thank god J actually locked the thing when he left this am. Stupid addicts.

J decided that he was going to make some chicken broth/soup with the two chicken carcasses we had leftover from the roasters we got with groceries. He’s keen about the whole ‘lets save money by butchering our own meat’ thing these days. Anyway, he got it cooking last night while I was sitting staring dumbly at my monitor and venting in text. He did ask at one point what kind of veggies he should put in and so I said ‘celery and carrots and things’ and even went in to help choose the herbs but I didn’t clue until this morning when he told my groggy self could I please take the bones out of the pot that perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to put the veggies in last night. I can tell you now it definitely wasn’t. So I took everything out. Now I don’t know if I have the patience to go through all the boiled-to-death veggies and such to dig out all the microscopic bones. 0.o

My deck is warm. The sun has warmed up my pillow. I have ginger ale and a good book. I might be back later.

listening to: Zero 7 – Pageant of the Bizarre
eating: soda crackers
reading: White Stone: The Alice Poems – Stephanie Bolster
Flesh and Spirit – Carol Berg
Escaping Toxic Guilt – Susan Carrell
feeling: ugh
headspace: still hunting through rubble