Mar. 7th, 2011

framlingem: (Emily Rocks)
Today, I was an AWESOME COOK.

Seriously. My supper was so delicious. I marinated chicken in honey and mustard, then stirfried it. Meanwhile, in another pot, I made cream-of-broccoli soup (which sounds impressive, except it was condensed stuff that I added water to) and then cooked carrots, green beans, spinach, and yellow peppers in the soup. Afterwards, I poured all of that onto the chicken, ladelled that onto some rice, and grated a little bit of marble cheddar cheese onto it.

And I have LEFTOVERS.

I'm a good cook when I get around to it. It's just that usually I can't be bothered to take the time, so I focus on weird and wonderful sandwiches. (Lunch today, for instance, was toasted flax bread with melted brie and Jonagold apple slices, drizzled with a tiny bit of maple syrup and topped with another slice of toasted bread, served with the rest of the apple and some grapes. YUM. I'm tempted to start a sandwich blog. I love experimenting with sandwiches. I should take pictures next time.)

(There's a little dream I have where I operate a combination used bookstore and fancy sandwich shop, with giant comfy chairs and a variety of hot chocolates and teas, and big bright windows. It's not what I actually want to do, because I'd be a terrible self-employed person, but man, wouldn't that kind of store be cool?)
framlingem: (study study study)
The paper I'm writing at the moment is supposed to be a review of various other papers written about my subject, except they also all seem to be reviews of other papers which, for all I know (as those papers aren't available) are about other papers.

This seems needlessly recidivistic. I'm referring to what so-and-so said as quoted by so-and-so. Bleagh.
framlingem: (Default)
Mantra of the day: "Handing in a terrible, boring, lifeless paper will still net me a higher grade than not handing in a terrible, boring, lifeless paper".

I hate handing in work I don't actually like.
framlingem: (Default)
I am finished my paper! In an academic first for me, I devoted a (short) paragraph to horse penises.

They started it. Literary critics are perverts, man.

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