It's a perfect Easter Sunday. I am reminded of the hope of the resurrection thanks to my spoon issues - that someday I will not have to count spoons. Or even worry about having to count spoons. A new heaven and a new earth - halle-bloody-lujah!
I invited the neighbours to an Easter service (they're nominally Catholic, but I left it a bit late, so it's not really likely I think), and gave them a bunch of the tomatoes I've harvested but which I can't eat. (Drat these intolerance issues.)
I have the parts of the IKEA storage cupboard/TV stand out on the lounge room floor, and am slowly (slowly!) assembling it. Like, I've laid them out on the floor and...that's all. I'll do the screws later this afternoon maybe. Or possibly tomorrow.
I boiled some potatoes for making lunch things (frittata), and am making something called No-Tomato Sauce. Basically a red sauce that I can eat while on this elimination diet. (ETA: it's pretty good!)
Also: Donna Hay's sponge cake = AMAZEBALLS. Don't get daunted by the list of ingredients - lots of that is for the strawberry jam, and the cream and icing sugar (powdered sugar) is for decoration.
Anyway, I have to rest my hand, because it's aching a bit and last night was, frankly, kind of terrifying.
Also, reading up on abcesses on the internet is not good. (Never google your symptoms.) They all say DEAL WITH IT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. Except I can't see my usual endodontist until next Monday, and I'm kind of tempted to start looking at new dentist this week. There's a little dental group a couple of suburbs away, and they claim to have a whole raft of specialists operating from there. I guess the question is just how soon they can look at the tooth, how long it will take them to go through my dental history, and how much I like the doctors. (A couple of them are of Asian background; that matters to me, because they won't misjudge my age, and they won't talk down to me, and I comprehend their cultural cues considerably better than Mr. Insistent-Demanding at the current dental practice - not my dentist, not the endodontist, but the one taking over for my dentist while she's preggers.)
In fannish news of the meantime, yes, Sharon, it is pretty awkward to be dreaming of Bucky when you've been kissing Steve. And, no, an OT3 is not in your future. Steve is taken according to the Handbook Of T, and you kind of know that, you're just not seeing it, and nobody is talking about it (except Sam, because Sam does that kind of thing).
I invited the neighbours to an Easter service (they're nominally Catholic, but I left it a bit late, so it's not really likely I think), and gave them a bunch of the tomatoes I've harvested but which I can't eat. (Drat these intolerance issues.)
I have the parts of the IKEA storage cupboard/TV stand out on the lounge room floor, and am slowly (slowly!) assembling it. Like, I've laid them out on the floor and...that's all. I'll do the screws later this afternoon maybe. Or possibly tomorrow.
I boiled some potatoes for making lunch things (frittata), and am making something called No-Tomato Sauce. Basically a red sauce that I can eat while on this elimination diet. (ETA: it's pretty good!)
Also: Donna Hay's sponge cake = AMAZEBALLS. Don't get daunted by the list of ingredients - lots of that is for the strawberry jam, and the cream and icing sugar (powdered sugar) is for decoration.
Anyway, I have to rest my hand, because it's aching a bit and last night was, frankly, kind of terrifying.
Also, reading up on abcesses on the internet is not good. (Never google your symptoms.) They all say DEAL WITH IT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. Except I can't see my usual endodontist until next Monday, and I'm kind of tempted to start looking at new dentist this week. There's a little dental group a couple of suburbs away, and they claim to have a whole raft of specialists operating from there. I guess the question is just how soon they can look at the tooth, how long it will take them to go through my dental history, and how much I like the doctors. (A couple of them are of Asian background; that matters to me, because they won't misjudge my age, and they won't talk down to me, and I comprehend their cultural cues considerably better than Mr. Insistent-Demanding at the current dental practice - not my dentist, not the endodontist, but the one taking over for my dentist while she's preggers.)
In fannish news of the meantime, yes, Sharon, it is pretty awkward to be dreaming of Bucky when you've been kissing Steve. And, no, an OT3 is not in your future. Steve is taken according to the Handbook Of T, and you kind of know that, you're just not seeing it, and nobody is talking about it (except Sam, because Sam does that kind of thing).
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