Today I am a domestician, doing All The Things. This morning I biked down to El Camino Real between the rains, bought drugs on the first corner I came to (no, no, the legal kinds: at a Walgreen's, yet) and went (to prod) cold turkey on all the other three.
Then I came home and ordered a fresh free-range turkey on the internet, for next week is apparently turkey-eating day in these parts. They give you time off work and everything to do this.
In other news, I need to spend more time on my bike, but it's difficult. Local shopping is actually easier on foot, when you take locks and chains into account; beyond that not so much, but walking-to-the-shops is so much a part of my thinking process, I'm very reluctant to skip it. Can't think on a bike, you have to be far too much in the moment, traffic-aware and so forth. (Also, note to self: lifting one's head and craning one's neck to look at low-flying aircraft? Leads to wobble.) And every time I think I might go off for an afternoon's cycle, it feels like time spent unprofitably. So I don't. We have all this network of cycle paths around here, and they all start a little too far away and I have yet to discover any of 'em.
And now in a vague attempt to use my time profitably, I have stripped all the beds and denuded the bathroom of towels and run two loads of laundry with my eye on a third to come. Karen's mother (I am constitutionally incapable of typing "mom") arrives tomorrow, because people will apparently come from far and far for turkey-eating day, even putting themselves in the hands of a novice (I have never cooked a turkey, me; I expect to be stressed beyond measure, but, y'know. That's just camouflage, for I am stressed already).
I won't actually be going to the airport with Karen tomorrow to collect her mother, on account of having a reading/booklaunch event thing at Borderlands in SF (3.00pm! Come!). These are undoubtedly the perils of fame, or the wages of sin, or something. One of those odd pluralities.
In other news, I am still reading lots and not writing nothing hardly (I told you I was stressed), and the habanero that I ate for lunch had not been denatured, no. You were right, people: Hispanic groceries are the way to go. Not only does Chavez sell properly-natured habaneri, they also sell manzano, which are my favourite chillies ever (mild in the green, hot as they ripen, the size and shape of small apples and the seeds are black; I have a plant in the back yard, and there's even a chance it might survive the winter). Also, Katherine and I are going to make our own sriracha, just as soon as I can source palm sugar and piratical bandanas...