I've been a very, very naughty girl.
The day started out decent. Besides the whole waking up at noon part, that felt nice but was bothersome. I've been trying to be awake during the day instead of just half of it. That's proving to be more difficult than I thought, even though every time I have to do this, I know it's going to be awful.
Anyway, it was already pretty warm by the time I got up. (Which is why I want to be awake during the morning, goddammit.) I was absolutely loathe to cook anything. So what do I do?
I tell my sanity to fuck off and cook. That's what.
In the pressure cooker I heated up the broth from the previous tomato-bean soup and added vegetables back into it, including some rice beans that I picked up from the bulk section and advertised as 'no soak'. Turns out I have no idea how long to cook beans not out of a can and they were a little crunchy, but they didn't break my teeth when I pulled the pot, so that's good enough for me. It provided a nice textural addition anyways.
But God, it was so hot out today that I put the soup in the fridge to cool down. The mere idea of eating anything hot made me want to die.
Of course, that didn't stop me from turning the oven and baking up a sheet of roasted peppers, broccoli, and potatoes. Or putting a couple of chicken breast fillets in beside the baking sheet. At that point I thought it would all be good and fine. I thought I was prepared, as I laid down on the floor with a book.
I was so, so wrong. It only got hotter.
In the end, I had to flee. I managed to get the remaining food in a tiffin for David to have later, but I was pretty sure I saw my life flash before my eyes at that point. Practically panting, sweating like a dog in a Chinese restaurant, I stumbled into Starbucks... and was revived.
Okay, so I'm exaggerating. But for somebody who was wearing sweatshirts last week, this was crazy.
Bad enough that when I finally returned home only for David to seize me in a five minute long hug, I immediately fled to the nearby mall for a few hours. I love my husband, but he's an asshole.
And that's the story of how I had fries, lemonade, and an Oreo stack for dinner. Whoops?
I blame my husband. Prat.
The day started out decent. Besides the whole waking up at noon part, that felt nice but was bothersome. I've been trying to be awake during the day instead of just half of it. That's proving to be more difficult than I thought, even though every time I have to do this, I know it's going to be awful.
Anyway, it was already pretty warm by the time I got up. (Which is why I want to be awake during the morning, goddammit.) I was absolutely loathe to cook anything. So what do I do?
I tell my sanity to fuck off and cook. That's what.
In the pressure cooker I heated up the broth from the previous tomato-bean soup and added vegetables back into it, including some rice beans that I picked up from the bulk section and advertised as 'no soak'. Turns out I have no idea how long to cook beans not out of a can and they were a little crunchy, but they didn't break my teeth when I pulled the pot, so that's good enough for me. It provided a nice textural addition anyways.
But God, it was so hot out today that I put the soup in the fridge to cool down. The mere idea of eating anything hot made me want to die.
Of course, that didn't stop me from turning the oven and baking up a sheet of roasted peppers, broccoli, and potatoes. Or putting a couple of chicken breast fillets in beside the baking sheet. At that point I thought it would all be good and fine. I thought I was prepared, as I laid down on the floor with a book.
I was so, so wrong. It only got hotter.
In the end, I had to flee. I managed to get the remaining food in a tiffin for David to have later, but I was pretty sure I saw my life flash before my eyes at that point. Practically panting, sweating like a dog in a Chinese restaurant, I stumbled into Starbucks... and was revived.
Okay, so I'm exaggerating. But for somebody who was wearing sweatshirts last week, this was crazy.
Bad enough that when I finally returned home only for David to seize me in a five minute long hug, I immediately fled to the nearby mall for a few hours. I love my husband, but he's an asshole.
And that's the story of how I had fries, lemonade, and an Oreo stack for dinner. Whoops?
I blame my husband. Prat.
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