After 22 days without writing, you'd think I'd be chock full 'o stories and such, but nope, not really.

Not much has been going on.  A couple of weeks of just working, Saturday trips to the Farmer's Market, Sunday afternoons renting videos, and dinners for two at the kitchen table.  My cooking skills are fairly adequate.  The only thing that really limits me to branch out from a plain and predictable menu is my child who simply likes things plain and predictable.  The plus is that dinners usually take 20 minutes or less to make, the minus is that our menus are rarely more than eggs, stir-fry, spaghetti, and occasionally a chicken dinner.  It's kinda boring, but at least she'll eat it.  I try to make changes to my own meals, by adding spice or different vegetables, but more than occasionally, I don't really manage to get my act together. I'd lazily eat the same meals if it means 10 minutes less in preparation time.

My sister's car failed the e-test.  It was a clunker, and was ugly to boot, but it was getting us places, albeit noisy and slowly.  She's pricing brand new cars now, and it's driving me insane. I hate hearing details about percentages down, financing rates, 72 month agreements and such. I'm sure she thinks I'm jealous when I don't pay as much attention to her as she talks about every second, but I'm not. Just bored of it all.  I'm not a detail person, really.

Work is work.  I don't care either way about it, so I'm rarely bothered by anything that goes on; customers' issues, office politics, social groups and gossip, or whatever comes up in a large work environment.  I am just making it day by day, call by call.  When I get home, I don't bitch about work, I don't obsess about every little thing.

And that's really it these days. Nothing much at all.