So, turkey doesn't even last a week before going bad. Not knowing this, I ate it in two sandwiches yesterday ('tis the season to be broke) and today my guts felt like someone punched straight down on them from somewhere in my diaphragm. The good news: I got to leave work early. The bad news: I'll be out fifteen bucks. Not much, you say? That's groceries for a week.
Oh well. I've made a new dedication to my dietary well-being: Cook more. Peanut butter and tuna fish sandwiches only cut it for so long. Marianne bought a fabulous book of casserole recipes, so I plan to do the poor-and-independent casserole thing. My coworkers have started yelling at me for getting thinner, and I don't want to overdo it. I refuse to shrink out of my brand new clothes.
The problem is that cooking takes so much time and planning. But if I could work cooked broccoli into my regular diet, then surely I can find time once a week to make a big meal.
Bah. I just want to read books.
Okay, blogging is not sleeping off mild food poisoning. Stupid fricking turkey.
2 comments:
Sarah, I first read this entry several hours ago, and it's taken me that long to realize you probably weren't talking about sandwiches with peanut butter and tuna fish in them. I practically got food poisoning just thinking about it. Feel better!
- Sonia
Lol, if I were a consumer of peanut-butter-and-tuna sandwiches I would deserve what I got. Fortunately I'm innocent of that particular heinousness.
So much for precision of language! Or maybe it's just that you and I come from different interpretive communities. ;)
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