I am at peace with myself and my world. For the moment, anyway.
I had my evening all planned out. I was going to come home, order a pizza and watch some awful horror movie. Perhaps The House on Haunted Hill or Chuck Russell's claw-your-eyes-out stupid remake of The Blob. I was also going to get a bunch of little miscellaneous tasks finished which are too numerous and banal to list here.
My plans were disrupted. First, I ended up having to stay late at work. Next, I came home and opened the fridge only to realize that I have vegetables that need to be dealt with or I'll have to throw them away soon. No biggie. I did a quick inventory of what needed to be used up, and decided to make soup.
Peanut chicken stew, to be exact.
It's exquisite, or it will be once it's finished. In a couple of minutes, I'll have to go downstairs and add a few more ingredients. It'll be done by 7:00. My crappy movie will be in the DVD player by 7:30. I have a load of whites in the washer, and while I'm waiting for the soup to cool, I'll change out of these clothes so I can wash all my khakis. In the meantime-- oh, wait. There's Attack of the Killer Tomatoes. I haven't watched the director's commentary yet. Decisions, decisions.
Uh, where was I? Who cares? I'm doing okay. I am fiiiiiiiiiine (that's a good "fiiiiiiiiiine," not a sarcastic "fiiiiiiiiiine,"). This is the first week night I've had in more than a month where I'm absolutely not obligated to do anything. I'm finishing off that black olive hummus I made for work last week (nobody at work will even touch hummus. I only make it so I can eat the leftovers), and listening to Ween.
Occasionally, life is very, very good.
Very good indeed.