I am not happy with this whole "quarantine" thing. I had to run to Dollar General to get cat food (usually I don't buy my food there, but it's close and I wasn't sure I could drive even that four miles safely) and even though I wore a scarf pulled up over my mouth, didn't cough the entire time I was in there, used hand sanitizer before I touched the buggy handles and was as careful as I could be, I could still imagine thousands of tiny bugs jumping off me, rubbing their little bug-hands together with glee as they jumped on unsuspected shoppers. I grabbed my cat food and a diet Dr. Pepper and hustled out like the Phantom of the Opera. You didn't see me. I was never here.
And then the cats refused to eat the food. They eventually figured out that I wasn't going to drive the 11 miles to Tractor Supply for a while, and they nibble at it, but Houla lets his displeasure be known loudly and quite impassioned. Especially at 2:00 a.m. for some reason. Maybe that's the usual time for kitty dining. It ends up being the time for kitty-being-tossed-outside. I'm sick and I'm grumpy. Don't mess with me.
I've gotten absolutely nothing productive done in the last 10 days. Nothing. I did change my bedsheets, but I had to. I'd sweated through so many fevers that it was beginning to disgust even me to sleep on them. And we've established that I don't disgust easily. I didn't have the energy to do any real cooking, so I sliced up a half-dozen squash, baked them with onion slices and seasoned salt and put them in the fridge. While they were cooking, I put some wrapped olive-oil coated sweet potatoes in the toaster oven too and for the past few days I've dined on leftover meatloaf with sweet potatoes and squash. Every meal. Until tonight when I splurged and baked myself one of Marie Callender's Chicken Pot Pie. I know they're horrible for me. But, don't I deserve a LITTLE bit of a perk? I've been very good. I don't care about the delectable chunks of chicken and vegetables in creamy sauce. That's good, but frankly I could be ecstatic about eating nothing but the crust. Oh. My. God. The. Crust!
Tomorrow I'm going to make a couple of egg pies to live on until Saturday when I get to go out into the world again. Ever made egg pies? Some rude and nasty people may try to tell you it's "just quiche" (Yes, Lori, I'm talking to you) but it's absolutely not. It's just "egg pie." My grandma used to make them and grandma was never wrong. I wish I had fresh maters to chop up in it, but I do have some leftover spinach. And some smoked sausage, and cheese and onions, and black olives. Omigosh. I'm making myself hungry.
I've gotten some lovely emails from people who have read or are reading Hot Bubbles & Chocolate. May I remind all of you, PLEASE leave reviews on Amazon! It's vitally important. It's how they decide what books to spotlight, etc. Not five stars, that always looks fake (unless you absolutely do love it that much in which case who am I to daunt your enthusiasm?) but just a review, any review.
I think I have one bottle of chocolate milk (low fat, no sugar) left in the fridge. I think I'm going to go drown my sorrows (and my next-to-last antibiotic) with it and then hit my new sheets.
Good night, 'til next time....
THAT'S MY STORY
I've never been normal. I've never tried to be. I can't imagine anything more boring.
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