And grr, an email that I promised to sent off to someone didn't send. Fuck. Maybe I screwed up the address. Now I'm really pissed, because that person is going to think I'm flake. Fucking lying ass gmail. "Your mail has been successfully sent" my ass.
I had the biggest headache ever yesterday. Could barely stand up. I went to bed at freaking 10 P.M. (And considering I've been up quite late most nights, that's really early for me.)
Still, the family expected me to be off cooking their dinner. I ended up making a spinach frittata for me and mum. Was fucking awesome, o'course. ;-)
Tonight, I was going to make a somewhat homemade pasta sauce (I say 'somewhat' because I used canned tomatoes) but we were out of carrots, celery, AND onions, my 'base' for the sauce. I just made lazy ass dinner - cooked pasta and jarred sauce with ground meat. Blegh. So very bland, despite all the spices I added. But the other choice was Mac 'N Cheez and NO. That shit is kinda nasty when you're not in the mood for some 'kid's classics.'
I had popcorn for breakfast. We need to go fucking food shopping. I'm in a mood for making some sangria, but I need to like, invite people over to partake of it, as drinking a pitcher of it on my own would make me ill.
Been trying to write a bit more, something easier that The Philosophy of Breathing. So now I'm attempting to write abstract scenes with a thematic concern towards abstract painting and focusing on three key words to act as mood prompts.
Yes, I hate myself and like to see myself doomed to failure, why do you ask?
There's a writing meme going around, a 'ask me anything about my writing process and I'll tell you no lies.' As I am sitting here, blinking as I need to take out my contacts, I invite y'all to ask me anything. Except the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow.