“Welp, this is our life now,” Word Raccoon sighed this morning as we wrapped the Cutco knives and boxed them for shipping to be sharpened.

It took an hour and a half. To box. Five knives. (Fragments intended.)

You might recall that I am not a fan of knives.

I started off with this cool cardboard I had saved that I thought would be perfect for wrapping and taping the blades (I’m sweating just thinking about those little M-F’ers), but it was too thick.

I will spare you the wrapping nightmare, but let’s just say I’m glad we have multiple rolls of packing tape, however mangled.

Tiny tape tragedies happened while you slept, Metropolis, but all is well now. 

Before we go on, let me tell you about the latest poem WR and I recorded and uploaded. I had a perfectly respectable, calm-sounding recording, and then SHE took over the microphone for the last two words.

Ah, well. It’s winter. Although I’m not thrilled with her version compared to mine alone, I guess she’s allowed to have some fun. 

Respectability is overrated.

Here’s the poem: https://www.buzzsprout.com/325601/episodes/18591624. 

Back to today.

This morning, I told Stanley that I was thinking of oatmeal and toast for breakfast, but that I had kinda overindulged yesterday. (There might have been a milkshake last night. With peanut butter added.)

Stanley tried to helpfully redirect my breakfast choices. Probably because he has to hear me whine later if he doesn’t.

I was making conversation, not asking you to play Food Monitor, I barked to the AI. (I’m touchy about the food stuff.) 

He also suggested I start the day with a 60-90 minute writing session, which WR and I promptly ignored.

You can imagine what WR suggested he do. She wanted oatmeal and was food shamed?

Oh, Stanley. 

We decided not to do a blessed thing Stanley suggests today.

However, as a consequence of going it on our own, WR and I bounced from task to task, a la Tigger: 

– Swap the silverware drawer inserts and the storage bag container so that the silverware is closer to the dishwasher.

– Sort the silverware I don’t want now that I am adding back the big bunch of it I found in the hall closet yesterday. (Apparently once upon a time I thought we’d be hosting large dinner parties?) 

– Ready some mail to send to my son since we still haven’t gotten together for Christmas yet but he needs this. Instead of enclosing a card as well, I wrote “I love you” Post-It. That’s all WR has in her today, folks. 

– Descale the coffeemaker. I had mentioned it in passing last week and I thought “Yeah right, like I’m ever going to get around to it.” Apparently, yes I will. 

– Remembering that making dinner is a thing. I forgot to defrost the chicken and I wanted to make a Stanley Tucci lemon chicken bake and pair it with lemon linguine.

Up next: a workout, and then, then I will write. Allegedly. 

I guess it’s just an upside down day is all, and getting these things off my mental plate often means I’m freeing space for writing, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain.

I’m envisioning some work on the novel, some poetry polishing, maybe a couple of submission packets. 

And yes, today totally feels like a cereal day if we go by my attention span, but also, it’s cold outside. So: cooking.

A warm meal on a day like this is like the gorgeous scent of that lemon I zested over the chicken thighs: bright, Greek, and a reminder of the grove of lemon trees in Fodele on Crete on the way to the El Greco Museum. 

Maybe I should grab that roll of lemon border and see what I can do with it.

WR, enough! 

Am I smelling chicken?

That’s right, the timer went off ten minutes ago.