Well, I just found, in my junk box, an email saying "Why haven't you RSVPed that you're going to the Mentoring Program Orientation yet?" So hurrah, I got into the mentoring program Mum was making such a big deal about. Bleh. It would be MORE useful if I had a JOB. Anyway.
My target (starting tomorrow) is to do an exercise video and a job application every day. Except of course tomorrow we're shopping for Katie's birthday. So we'll see what happens. Maybe this new resolution will start on the weekend.
I stuck Bird outside, and I can hear him screeching away at the other birds. It's nice and quiet in here. If only there were brown sugar instead of Splenda in my coffee.
8:20pm
The TMJ is acting up and my teeth don't fit together properly now. I never know what starts it, or what stops it, for that matter. Some days my teeth fit, and some days they don't. It's a disgusting feeling. Can't even open my mouth properly to eat the cornbread I made.
2 episodes of CSI I've seen before and I'm bored and restless. Parents are in Oakville, Daddy's giving a lecture to the Oakville Arts Society, so they won't be back for an hour. Even Bird's quiet, although that would probably change if I turned the overhead light on, because he's sitting in darkness (hey, I didn't say I MINDED him being quiet, right?)
Know something? The obsession with measuring and exactitude is a recent thing. Not mine, everyone's. I picked up a copy of an old housewife's manual, originally from 1829, and most of the receipes are along the lines of "A good measure of flour and some water" or "2 to 6 kilos of lard." There's a hell of a difference between 2kg and 6kg of animal fat. And then, I was thinking about the way I bake. Much to everyone's surprise, Sachertorte not withstanding, I'm actually a good cook. I can bake well, usually by ignoring the receipe. Today, for the cornbread, I added an extra 100g of sugar and a bit more oil, and since I didn't want to make it disgusting and greasy I didn't add as much oil as I wanted to, which explains why I think it's too dry NOW. So, like, maybe women like C and my mom and I cook by the seat of our pants because of, like, racial memory or whatever, right? Like, a Jungian collective unconscious that there used to be a time when life wasn't measured out in coffee spoons. Maybe we like that time better, and gravitate towards it naturally. Maybe we're flipping the bird to the Man (the Muffin Man?) who says we have to conform and use the metric system. And just maybe, we're turning out better food because of it.
At least, I'd like to think so. Still wish I'd added more canola tho.
Readin' nothing yet, give me 5 minutes
Listenin' to nothing at all.
Thinkin' about breakfast and reading
Most recently I was 
