Jokes. But if it was, it could do worse than being this sandwich. I made it yesterday for lunch and Warren said that I make good looking sandwiches which, if you compare them to the ones he makes, would be a true statement. The man is inclined to put pesto, relish, sweet chilli sauce and mayonnaise all on the same slice of bread. Not jokes.
We ate well today. I made a list and shopped to the list and got my oversized backside into the kitchen and cooked things. Ham quiche, beef stir-fry, bran muffins, sugar cookies, and three wholegrained cheese toasties for tomorrow's packed lunch. I am supposed to see a dietitian, but have been putting it off and will probably never do it. I am not a child who needs to be told what to eat. I am a grown-ass woman who needs to put the effort into eating properly. Amen.
I made a last minute decision to do a couple of university papers if they could squeeze me in this late, and apparently they can. I've been sitting here for nearly an hour trying to come up with a suitable explanation on why the heck I would want to do that. I don't have a good reason. All I know is this: when I am well it greatly appeals. And I am well. Well-er than I've been in years. That cortisone turned out to be something close to a miracle, long may it last.
