I really hate being sick when I need to be 100% in the moment. Like when I teach young impressionable children.
See, when my head feels like thousands of jungle monkeys with tiny shivs are attacking my skull, I have a hard time focusing on why Old McDonald Had a Fart. Never mind that I thought about that question for a few minutes before I realized the YIC (young impressionable child) has completely misunderstood the lyrics to the song. Although to be perfectly honest….what does a farm smell like? Mmmhmm. Out of the mouths of babes with listening issues.
After I finally dragged myself home, I sounded like dog trying to hark up a potato. I took my nighttime cough medicine that I had to show 3 forms of ID, sign a waiver that I don’t mind going to prison (What up, Shawshank!), and say an oath promising to submit to waterboarding if I sold it to the underbelly of Tuscaloosa. Thank goodness that stuff works. Never mind that I lay awake at night pondering the ills of the world.
Before I slumped over in a drooling stupor, I made dinner. For myself. Stephen wasted no time grabbing his lunchbox and coffee before he retreated to the safety of a 12 hour night shift at the steel mill. He would much rather deal with working on 145* asphalt than listen to my addled musings. I don’t really understand, though. Doesn’t everybody want to discuss my phobia of being stranded on bridges? That’s where Satan hangs out. Or maybe the bridge trolls. Either way, I don’t like waiting on a bridge. It’s just creepy.
Dinner. Grilled Salmon. It was my very first time attempting grilled salmon on my Panini pan. I don’t make Paninis anymore since the bread makes me viciously ill. I tried salmon and I surprised myself. It was quite good. However, I have no memory of making it, so I do not have any kind of recipe. I call it “cough medicine salmon”. I’m pretty sure I won’t submit this one to Foodgawker.