sessifet | More tales of domesticity! And stuff about writing too

I finally tidied away most of the mugs and glassware we have. The kitchen is by no means finished, especially not when we're talking about layout, but damnit, I'm done for now. We're living like this for a bit to determine what wants to live where and how it all fits together.

Nothing major is planned for this weekend. I'll putter about the garden for a while, I'm sure and there's some garden waste that needs to be taken to the tip (damned goosegrass means I can't use most of the stuff I've taken off for composting or building of beds. Curse you, goosegrass! Curse you!), but it's not essential yet.

Summer lamb stew is cooking on the stove. I used the scrag of lamb I got from Abel and Cole this week. It's once again one of those things where the initial gravy tasted like diseased cat arse but after three hours of slow cooking it has become wonderfully complex (but not cloying). Now I'll have to decide what to serve with it.

Dum-de-dum.

I'm actually not writing all this just to keep people informed (and maybe entertained) or even for posterity, though there is some of that involved. I've complained about not being able to write for a while now. First it was stress and then it was lack of inspiration and then it was stress again and then it was just too difficult. I forgot how to put words on paper without agonising over every single word. Rusty brain, rusty fingers, if you want to get metaphorical about it.

Thing is, complaining about not being able to write is not going to give it back to me. Not that I feel anything's been taken away. I just misplaced the key to the filing cabinet. And the floorplan to the room that has the filing cabinet. And the key is now cunningly disguised as a fish and is hiding with a bunch of other fish. And all I've been doing is complaining about the fish and sulking around muttering that I can't be expected to work in these conditions. I will be in my trailer! *strop*

See? That doesn't fix anything and it gets really boring inside my head when I do that. So I decided to write something every day (no matter how inane) and, because my notebooks and pens are all still packed up, LJ is being subjected to my ramblings.

Yes, I am doing the mental equivalent of adventure game inventory puzzling. I'm picking up random fish and waving them at the assorted furnishings of my brain. This is one of those fun adventure games, though. You know the ones. Those with good writing and funny dialogue and descriptions so you get a unique (or at least still funny after the fifth time) response for everything you try. Right now, I'm in it for the fun of flailing fish around to see what happens.