Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Last night was the perfect antidote to the weekend. I did not need to go to the gym, for it was not a day of lifting, but I left work early and wondered what to do. I thought about simply going for a long walk, but the skies were cloudy and rain was not far off. I decided that I would be a superhero and go to the gym to run on the treadmill and follow up with the elliptical machine and some serious stretching. That's right. . . I have become a middle-aged soccer mom. Whatever. I am pleased to say that I am running an unbroken mile and a quarter now without significant knee pain, and I am ready to do a mile and a half next run. You haven't any idea how pleasing this is to me who has not run for over a year. I love to run. It makes me sane. And soon I hope to be doing this outside in the actual weather amongst the lakes and the trees. . . but I don't want to jinx myself. . . . Yesterday I did my mile and a quarter cranking up the speed each lap, then I got on the elliptical and wore myself out. Sweat. That is the thing. I was dripping with it. Not a soccer mom after all (they never seem to sweat no matter that they go faster and farther than I).
Then it was home for a what I thought to be a well-deserved dinner. I had leftover steak from the Sunday meal with mother. There were greens and beans. All so healthy, all so good. I was happy to have no need of going to the grocery store. I had worked out and it was still early. I would have a good, long night ahead. So when I got home, I eschewed water and poured a Dale's Pale Ale, sat at the computer to check on some things I had missed, then hit the shower. A glass of wine. I put on the greens and looked to get out the steak. What steak? There was no steak. Apparently I had thrown it out that morning when I was cleaning the refrigerator. It was garbage pick up day.
The storm broke like a monsoon. I was not going out again.
Fuck. I don't keep food in the house. What could I eat. I found a big can of chicken. Chicken and what? The greens were cooking. I found the last of some veganaise and cubed sweet relish and mixed them with the chicken. A glass of white wine. It was not a dinner. I had no crackers but I, having missed lunch, was hungry. I ate it down with a spoon in mere minutes. I could eat the greens when they were done, perhaps. Shit, fuck. I would have a whiskey.
The bottle was empty.
The storm continued to pound.
Drinking rye is not the same as drinking scotch. But it was a makeshift night. It would have to do. I tasted the greens. They were not a thing to eat by themselves. I decided to fry some eggs. Eggs and wine. I still couldn't eat the greens. Rye whiskey. I sat at the computer and began editing images. The music, though, carried me away into the night. Rye and music and making pictures. It was late. I was hungry-isn, but I would sleep.
Provisional. That is the only way to describe the night. I have become too locked into what I do. I need some catch-as-catch-can living.
I look forward to dinner tonight.
Posted by cafe selavy at 8:39 AM