I have laundry going in the washer. Black bean soup is making itself in the crock pot. The robot vacuum is cleaning the house.
And people wonder how I have so much time to blog, what with the chicken farming and all.
Last night I had a dream in which I planted things around the edge of the garden and protected the seedlings with a fence made of burlap (the chickens will decimate anything as soon as I plant it otherwise). I think I am anxious for spring and its growing season. I am not this industrious in real life.
And then I dreamt our drummer friend Liam came by to rehearse with a friend in The Studio, aka The Casinos at Trout Towers, aka The Basement. At some point the friend asked Liam if he thought it was okay if he heated up a slice of pizza in our kitchen. Liam came up a few minutes later and was all, "dude - you didn't heat up pizza, you made yourself a whole freaking lunch!" Let it be known that random musicians raid refrigerators even in dreams.
Liam, I do not hold you responsible for the actions of your friends in my dream. Also, the plant he sat on? It was a geranium, so all is well.
I should maybe ease off the late night spicy snacks.
I am home today because it is snowing snowing snowing and there is no sign of it stopping. For some reason this is making me feel very domestic and I am flitting about in the kitchen making things for the rest of the week. Not right now, of course. I'm taking a break from my culinary conquerings to keep you apprised of the situation here at Trout Towers.
The situation involves oatmeal, chocolate chip, pecan cookies from Smitten Kitchen. Don't even click the link unless you are willing for your life to be ruined. I cannot stop making the things she posts and am starting to have an identity crisis. I have become Donna Reed, except I can't for the life of me find my feather duster.
Or my apron.