rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Reset Eighteen, Day Twenty-Three

Wednesday's dinner was a bit experimental. I had a package of soy chorizo, and used half of it with half an onion and two potatoes to make a sort of Mexican hash. It was very spicy, so it will be a good test of whether my stomach can adjust after its recent bad days. The hash was sort of good, but also sort of disturbing. The flavor of the spices cooked into the potato chunks, which was nice, but the texture of the soy chorizo leaves something to be desired. It's both a bit mushy and a bit sticky. I might try reducing the cooking time a bit, as the potatoes were also a bit on the soft side. But it's possible that this dish is just a culinary dead end and will never be quite good enough.

It was another mild day, and the apartment got warm enough that the furnace didn't come on at all until after two o'clock this morning. I had hoped to have the windows open for a bit in the afternoon, but as soon as I went outdoors I began sneezing from the pollen, so I decided I'd better wait for another day and try it again. I don't know what plant out there is trying so hard to kill me, but I hope it has a short attention span. It would be nice to spend more of the mild afternoon hours outside listening to the mockingbird, who has been visiting the yard more frequently as the weather warms.

So I just spent the last hour watching Thompson Twins videos on YouTube. Sometimes I get distracted and hung up. It happens a lot when YouTube offers up a Thompson Twins video, partly because lead singer Tom Bailey reminds me so much of a guy named Fred whose family moved in across the street from our house about the time I started high school. The resemblance is uncanny, except that Fred's hair was a much darker red and he had a somewhat darker complexion. Although since I haven't seen Fred in over fifty years maybe I've just adjusted my memory of him to look more like Bailey. I've always been struck by the coincidence that we lived on Bailey Avenue then, too. Anyway, I thought I was going to have something to write about, but apparently I don't. Sometimes nostalgia just punks me.

I'm up way too late, and though I'm sure there's stuff I've forgotten to do I need to go to sleep, if possible. I'm feeling a bit hyper, though, so it might not work— in which case I'll just read until I'm exhausted. Spring fever. I'd swear there's some kind of upper in that damned pollen.
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