Only you can pick your genre.

A quote from 'Scream', that title, but true. I suppose.

What would I like my genre to be? Not horror, of course, despite my love of the fictional horror. Maybe quirky indie?

Anyway, I made it through a friend's 40th party this weekend, more or less, but I must admit that it was all a little too noisy and crowded, and we left at about 9.30. And then went straight to bed.
We're so rock 'n' roll.

It's Sunday, so we are having a lazy day - naps, sausages for lunch, watching the rugby, drinking a lot of tea, and re-watching some old horror movies. It's only twenty to five now, so in a while I'll wander down to the shop and buy some cream and white wine to make this delicious dijon sauce. I'm defrosting a lump of pork, and I can do potatoes of some kind with it. And I supposed I might find some sort of vegetables to go, too.

I'm also doing a lot of reading - dipping in and out of a somewhat eclectic range of books by Diana Wynne Jones and Barack Obama and Ngaio Marsh. It's a good day. Matt's been playing the Sims, so I got to have a great big fake-offended wifely tizzy because he's made a character that looks like him, and the character has a fake wife that does not look like me! And they have fake children together! OH, THE HORROR!

 

 

I'm trying to remind myself that I have a good life, despite my medical issues that seem so severe right now. I have family and friends and a job I do, actually, rather enjoy. Enough money to keep a roof over my head, and to buy food and other necessities, and enough to be able to spend on distractions. And, more than anything else, I have Matt, and that makes me luckier than any woman has the right to be.

 

After that tweeness, I think I'll leave you with a short "I'm an idiot" story. I was looking out the window, and I saw some birds flying North. And I thought "Oooh, spring must be on its way". And then I realised that they were flying West. And they were seagulls. Which don't migrate. *sigh*