Six loaves of bread proofing on the stove this morning, three big crockpots on the go. Beef stew tonight. My recipe, which I won't share and they can't seem to duplicate. It's always almost but not quite. Lo-Fi winter jazz playing through the house thanks to Google being yelled at until he/she got it right. I had it on Shostakovich and it was choosing the most morose pieces I was losing my mind. Then I switched to Ali& Theo and again, the most drag-me-down choices and finally I just said what I thought was the name of my favourite Youtube random snowy cafe jazz music and it was a direct hit.
Perfect.
The dog is sleeping on the living room floor, one eye open so he can watch me from there. Cat is playing nearby. She's a little maniac and then she conks out for three hours straight. It's hilarious.
Duncan is also conked out. He did a coffee run, mine was wrong and had cream in it so I drank as much as I could and had to pour out the remainder, almost half a cup. I can't do it. It tastes bad. I'm actually finding that since contracting covid (in September), things since have a weirdly metallic taste and it's difficult to know if it's the thing or me.
He felt bad, but not bad enough to stay awake and cut onions so there I was, alone in the kitchen with my intrusive, non-consensual thoughts and my ghosts and my tiny grey and white furry friends.