Better than opening a can of split-pea soup with ham and a bottle of cabernet . . . . I can’t even get myself to cook like this very often when there are two of us . . . much less when I’m dining alone.
Yes: one year when I wasn’t working, and A the H was—and we had money—I cooked something like five nights a week. And baked most of our morning muffins from scratch, and made A the H lunch every day. And helped him make a little indie film that same year. It seems rather abstract to me now, and I get tired just thinking about it.
Oh, and: Darrell, I am working on that thing we talked about. Arthur, I’ll get in touch with you tomorrow about that other project. I shall be a pokey procrastinator no more, forever.
It’s the least I can do, what with having such a bitchin’ new client and all . . . life is good.
I’m off to fetch more cabernet, now.
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