My friend Rick came over for another of our Saturday bruncheons. His visits are always welcome, and ever so politely brief. Today, I was running a fever, and didn’t feel like eating, but I did manage to have a great time rambling anyway (while Rick ate whatever was on offer with true sporting spirit! 🙂 ).
I put together two more DIY pizzas – the pita bread is still sitting in my fridge, what better way to use some up? Half a green capsicum and half an aubergine, both from my Thoughtful Foods veggie and fruit box (two weeks ago!). And of course, some of that smoked salmon, which I had placed into separate ziplock bags and stored in the freezer.
My problem with smoked salmon on warm pizza is that it tends to dry up when heated even a little bit, and loses it’s smooth, slithery texture. Interestingly, for someone with hypersenses, this texture is more pleasant to me than not – which runs contrary to other people’s hypersensory aversions. I do think part of the reason, for me, has to do with my autoimmune condition. Foods that are somewhat more slippery are easier to eat, when one has a mouthful of painful ulcers. A practical adaptation of the senses, perhaps? I also love fresh shucked oysters!
After Rick left, the fever shot up high, and I decided to down two panadol and curl up in bed with my beautiful warm vanilla Princess hound. I did try to read some Walter Benjamin, but the hot rosy cheeks were making my eyes smart (well, not actually, but it did feel that way), so I cuddled up and had a little snooze with the babygirl.
The panadol took effect after awhile and I did manage to get up, reheat the pizza and finish it off without too much grimacing from the pain. I daresay it was pretty tasty, though the aubergine wasn’t cooked well enough for my liking.
One major problem I have with so much pain is that I am completely and utterly frustrated at my attempts to achieve anything near the targets I set for myself. It is impossible to attain accomplishments of grandiose proportions with such consummate affliction. There are days I chuckle at myself and feel that the world is probably better off with me being thus severely impaired, while other days I feel a sense of loss, as if I am a tiny speck of ironic comedy in a vast cosmic theatrical farce. However, one needs to take such in our stride and not to take ourselves too seriously. Lucy does help a great deal in this department. She is beautiful without even trying, a perfect gift from a Providence that I cannot claim to understand. How can one place too much weight on one’s own importance when living with an angel such as Lucy?
All in all, I am pretty satisfied with the day. It’s not over yet, though, and there’s still some time for Walter Benjamin. And a houndie-angel walk too.