Shameful Thoughts and Behavior

Even though my clients generously gave me extensions on my assignment deadlines and I could have lolled around in bed a few more days, I worked yesterday (for the first time since last Tuesday). Possibly not the greatest idea. All I did was sit on my arse and scribble edits on paper with a purple pen, but I was kaput by 4:30. I had also managed to work myself up into a peevish and uncharitable frame of mind, which I hope was mostly due to the fact that I am coping with dual afflictions—leftover flu symptoms and full-on menstrual cramps.

I would hope that under normal circumstances if I happened to see our brand-new next-door neighbors pull up outside and move a mammoth drum set into their house, I wouldn’t have instantly jumped to the conclusion that they are irresponsible nimrods and that B and I will have to listen to hellish thrash-rock racket from dawn to dusk. However, that was--more or less--what crossed my mind. All I ever ask from neighbors is that they be quiet. I don’t care if they’re operating a meth lab. As long as it’s a silent meth lab. OK. Not true, but my point is--I have a very low threshold for racket of any description. Very old fartish of me, but I’ve always been this way.

B pointed out that I was borrowing trouble, and so I am. I really have no evidence that the new kids aren’t nice, responsible people who are installing top-of-the-range soundproofing at this very moment. I should give them the benefit of the doubt, right? And I should go over and introduce myself. I will--when I’m feeling less like a cross old troll.

Instead of being neighborly, I left the premises and went to the fancy grocery store to get myself something to eat. B has been rather saintly about fetching and preparing food for me for the past week, and it seemed to me high time I made some token effort to feed myself. However, I just can’t see doing anything resembling cooking for at least the next few days. I'm still running an enormous peppiness deficit.

It’s more than a little embarrassing and shameful to report the contents of my shopping cart, but isn’t embarrassing yourself what blogs are all about?

• wedge of triple espresso chocolate cake
• tub of Kozy Shack chocolate pudding*
• quart of 1% milk
• container of locally made hoity-toity salsa
• two avocados
• bag of Kettle “Little Dipper” tortilla chips
• fresh artichoke and cheese ravioli
• jar of pesto
• quart of New England clam chowder from the deli counter (much better than anything I could ever make)
  
• 12 oz of decaf coffee

I’m not going to tell you how much this rather modest number of purchases cost, but suffice it to say that a more prudent shopper could have probably fed a family of four for a week with the amount I spent. More frugal habits will return as soon as my reserves of energy are replenished. Until then, I think I’ll just about be able to muster the strength to mash up avocados, churn them into guacamole, and tear open that bag of chips. Or maybe I’ll have B help me get that bag of chips open. I don't want to wear myself out.

*Yes. Two chocolatoid items. I’m surfing the crimson tide, remember?