dangerous compassions

I call you / from the comet's cradle

Saturday, June 13, 2015

putting my hat back on

When I forget to blog, it's kind of like a cowboy's hat falling off.  It indicates something is wrong.  Unless I'm out of town, in which case it just indicates that I'm on a computer very little.

Right now I'm cooking up a test batch of some rice I was given.  I'm going to use it for the Big Cook tomorrow morning.  Tomorrow morning I'm cooking for Food Not Bombs.  Black-eyed peas, Mexican rice, potatoes of some kind, and some snap peas raw.  I'm nervous.  It's going to be my first time cooking for 30 by myself.  Well, Ming will help.

Anyway, last night was the first political prisoner letterwriting night, and I made it happen, with Ming's help, and it was perfect.  I was so worried something would go wrong.  There were six of us for most of it, and that was actually the perfect amount considering card space.

Afterward we went to the bar we go to, and I sipped grapefruit juice from two small red straws.  The guys talked about anarchy and I listened in my attentive way.

The rice smells good.  This morning I dragged my ass out of bed at 5:10 to shower, walk, and serve.  While serving I tried to have a good attitude, but I am cumulatively beyond exhausted from stress and sleep deprivation, a bad combination.

But Ming was just on the roof fixing the swamp cooler, so hopefully it will be less than 90 in here soon.


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