- CEO is out of town this week at work. It's amazing how much less tension there is in the office when he's away. And so much less posturing too. It's almost peaceful, and that is definitely worth celebrating at the soap opera!
- Had Indian food for dinner with Faye tonight. Twas a good selection. I liked a few, found the rest relatively edible. I do have to say though, that while Indian food tastes and smells good, it's got to be one of the grosser looking cuisines out there. Or at least the stuff on this buffet was. Sort of universally brown sauces - quite unfortunate looking, though lovely to taste. And I liked the fresh naan bread too.
- Also walked around a park for a while with Faye, talking and catching up. It was nice to enjoy the added daylight for a bit, while walking and laughing.
- Grandma was actually out when I got home - which was great - because Faye needed to borrow something from me, and could come in without facing the interrogation, or me facing it later. And it meant I had 20 blessed minutes to shower and relax and enjoy knowing I was ALONE before she got back.
- Sounds so ridiculous, but I was just as happy about the food I cooked last night when I ate it again for lunch today. It was so nice to be eating "real" food, home made, and healthy. I felt better just thinking about it!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Daily 5 - Day 216
Today's Daily 5:
Another Good Read
I loved this post on Seth Godin's blog this morning: Driveby Culture and the Endless Search for Wow
Sometimes it's the little things
I woke this morning from crazy, unsettling dreams. The kind of waking that made me hesitant to glance at the clock, fearful that there would still be hours left in the night, fearful that there wouldn't be. The themes varied crazily, but enough to make me pause and think, "Clearly I'm still working through this and that."
Sometimes it's the little things that make life doable.
The tiny bit of hope I found in actually cooking a proper meal in Grandma's kitchen last night. I'd realized over the weekend that because I mostly avoid the upstairs, and the inevitable conversations that end in me biting my tongue on "I don't care" responses, I've been eating rather unhealthily. Grabbing snacks and supplementing them for meals. Take-out. Frozen pizza. Basically anything that I could get on a plate in less than ten minutes, making for a quick escape back down to the basement. Last night I cooked. Healthy food. (My body thanked me.) And Grandma mostly left me alone. Yes, while the food was in the oven I still escaped - to the shower, and back to the basement, relying on my watch timer to let me know that the food needed to be checked on. But it was mostly okay. And somehow, that tiny bit of normalcy - real food, prepared by me, and then carrying my plate to sit in front of my laptop and catch up on a bit of television viewing, that tiny bit of normalcy carried hope.
There was a little bit of hope in taking the cardboard away, just for the evening, from the window in the corner of my basement world. In the tiny bit of fading dusk peeking through a window not really positioned for allowing light in.
There is an odd little bit of hope in cradling a mug of passion tea this morning, and listing these seemingly little things, especially after a morning with weird dreams, and a cold commute in the dark.
Sometimes it's the little things that make life doable.
The tiny bit of hope I found in actually cooking a proper meal in Grandma's kitchen last night. I'd realized over the weekend that because I mostly avoid the upstairs, and the inevitable conversations that end in me biting my tongue on "I don't care" responses, I've been eating rather unhealthily. Grabbing snacks and supplementing them for meals. Take-out. Frozen pizza. Basically anything that I could get on a plate in less than ten minutes, making for a quick escape back down to the basement. Last night I cooked. Healthy food. (My body thanked me.) And Grandma mostly left me alone. Yes, while the food was in the oven I still escaped - to the shower, and back to the basement, relying on my watch timer to let me know that the food needed to be checked on. But it was mostly okay. And somehow, that tiny bit of normalcy - real food, prepared by me, and then carrying my plate to sit in front of my laptop and catch up on a bit of television viewing, that tiny bit of normalcy carried hope.
There was a little bit of hope in taking the cardboard away, just for the evening, from the window in the corner of my basement world. In the tiny bit of fading dusk peeking through a window not really positioned for allowing light in.
There is an odd little bit of hope in cradling a mug of passion tea this morning, and listing these seemingly little things, especially after a morning with weird dreams, and a cold commute in the dark.
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