That was unexpected. I ate a tiny scrap of raw onion as I was cooking this evening. There was an immediate and highly unpleasant chemical reaction in my mouth and the strong bitter taste of bad memories. Its still there now after dinner, after pirate chocolate, after cigarettes, after brushing my teeth, after almost a litre of water and I don 't know what to do. I think I have inexplicably poisoned myself with the sensation of bad possibilities.
I made Rupert soup for dinner, having pilfered the recipe from Rupert via the internet. Its delicious and not dissimilar to an Estonian recipe. Estonians being fond of both potato and cabbage. My housemates were initially puzzled at my calling the soup Rupert soup and were suspicious of the ingredients but once I explained that I have a tendency to name a dish after the person that gave me the recipe they agreed to eat it.
I've been doing some pondering about naming the soup Rupert soup, I was thinking that it was odd until I went to write it in my recipe book and looked at some other recipes. There are Aunty Val's patty cakes, Aunty Rona's butter cake, Mum's vegetable bake and Dale salad (the most unexpected salad you will ever serve) just to name a few. I have no idea who Aunty Rona is. I think she was my Great Grandmother's Great Aunt, this being a very old recipe for delicious tiny cakes passed down through the generations. I sat for quite some time with this thought and found it both comforting and isolating.
I long for a sense of family but have little hope of achieving it. I had thought I had my own little family with me and Artboy and the cat. We were going to have children, this year, it didn't work out that way and now the sound of a baby sends my soul into a bottomless free fall and I have to go and check my reflection in the mirror to see if I'm still real. My question is, if Chopper Read can get married and have children why can't I? I've got all my ears, I'm not rude on national television, I've never been to gaol. What's going on people?
I made Rupert soup for dinner, having pilfered the recipe from Rupert via the internet. Its delicious and not dissimilar to an Estonian recipe. Estonians being fond of both potato and cabbage. My housemates were initially puzzled at my calling the soup Rupert soup and were suspicious of the ingredients but once I explained that I have a tendency to name a dish after the person that gave me the recipe they agreed to eat it.
I've been doing some pondering about naming the soup Rupert soup, I was thinking that it was odd until I went to write it in my recipe book and looked at some other recipes. There are Aunty Val's patty cakes, Aunty Rona's butter cake, Mum's vegetable bake and Dale salad (the most unexpected salad you will ever serve) just to name a few. I have no idea who Aunty Rona is. I think she was my Great Grandmother's Great Aunt, this being a very old recipe for delicious tiny cakes passed down through the generations. I sat for quite some time with this thought and found it both comforting and isolating.
I long for a sense of family but have little hope of achieving it. I had thought I had my own little family with me and Artboy and the cat. We were going to have children, this year, it didn't work out that way and now the sound of a baby sends my soul into a bottomless free fall and I have to go and check my reflection in the mirror to see if I'm still real. My question is, if Chopper Read can get married and have children why can't I? I've got all my ears, I'm not rude on national television, I've never been to gaol. What's going on people?
Comments
myspace.com/daleslamma
I've been to gaol - and you could spoonerise the soup considering that's what you eat it with and call it Supert Roup.
xoxo Rups
What on earth did you go to gaol for? You hardly strike me as being a hardened crim.
xd
Rups :)