shredding chicken

I've so many blog posts half written in my head (and in my drafts). Abandoned due to lack of time or head space, thoughts half formed, arbitrary ramblings of a half crazed far too busy mind. I've made peace that I'm not going to get to them, not in this lifetime, but I'm feeling the restlessness of having them lurking, I've got brain clutter and this is the only way I can think to clear it:

... it's getting harder to blog like nobody's reading. I'm far more aware of those eyes out there then I have been before. It should be getting easier as my followers numbers seem to be dropping of late (am I the only blogger in the world who feels a twinge of relief and absolutely no regret when this happens?).
Am I inherently lazy and unambitious for thinking like this?

... this building malarkey is starting to get just the slightest bit tedious. It's all still very exciting 'n all but as the decisions we have to make have gotten more difficult (who knew choosing kitchen counter tops was far more stressful than deciding which walls to knock out?) and the builders have started fucking up a little bit here and there (no biggies, our neighbours seem perfectly happy with the new bathroom roof they inadvertently received yesterday - merry christmas y'all) and everything seems to be getting grimier every day, I do have moments of longing for it all to be Over and for them to all Go Away and for the incessant noise to Stop.
And I really, really miss cooking. And baking. And having a dishwasher.

... this baby is really actually going to spring from my womb one day in the not too distant future and maybe, just maybe I should start focusing on that some time soon. Or maybe not.

... so summer huh? It's going to be a doozy. (apologies Miss Buckle, please don't read on if this is going to be too painful)
Last Friday was the first of those completely magic, still, hot summer nights. Frieda and I stayed on the beach 'til well past her cut off time, we stopped at Granny's for an impromptu supper and a bath and she nodded off to sleep in the car on the way home. Driving along the Peninsula the setting sun caught the tops of the oak trees, greeny gold buttery waves of light all the way to the foot of the mountains, then bouncing up in radiant shafts into a sky just starting to blush around the edges.
I tucked her into bed and went out in search of a curry. Our 'bohemian' neighbourhood was a-flurry. Outside the ice-cream parlour a young fey girl sat, dressed in an apple-green satin evening dress, licking a pink strawberry cone. Further along, across the street from the Asian all-you-can eat buffet, a group of Hare Krishna's banged their tambourines and chanted, their skinny ankles in stark contrast to the gluttony before them.
Later, sitting outside in the velvet dark (and no, that's not a cliche - it is velvet see, that's how it feels on your skin), listening to the neighbour's party getting rowdier and rowdier, I felt overwhelmingly nostalgic, as summer nights often make me feel, thinking deliciously morose thoughts about how one probably only has a handful of such perfect evenings allocated to one in a lifetime, and as each one passes your quota gets less. (Note: I love nostalgia, it's one of my favourite emotions indulgences.)
The next day someone voiced those same thoughts to me, and I sagely concurred, but you know, on Monday, we had another one - another evening of still, magical warmth, of mosquitoes and tangled sheets and ice-cream at midnight and not wanting to sleep 'cos you want to be outside soaking up the balmy night air - and I remembered that it's only November, and even if there is a quota, this summer's allocation has only just started. Hooray!

... child, and then Husband, have both had Hand, Foot & Mouth disease in the last two weeks. Yup, the human strain of that killer farm animal virus. Husband got it from child who probably got it from the kiddie-park. Kids are gross. I'm just mentioning this for the sympathy vote. Sympathy for me that is.

... life is busy and full and not showing any signs of letting up until say, 2020, but it's also manageable and exciting and balanced for the most part. I did however have to check myself this week and point out (to myself) that I'm busy, not stressed. That there is a difference and I'd do well to remember that. Busy is productive and manageable, stressed is counter-productive and an utter waste of time.
[Busy also means I really shouldn't be blogging in the middle of the day but you know what ... ]

... strawberries. I thought I was over them but it turns out I'm not. Current favourites: mushed strawberries with sweet balsamic and vanilla ice-cream, sliced strawberries on toast with cream cheese and a drizzle of honey. Delicious.

... I've had great blog honour recently bestowed upon me by two kind bloggy buddies, Tooting Squared and Miss Buckle. Especially kind as I've done so little recently to deserve any blog recognition, although maybe that means I should take the award's name to heart: the 'I Shoulda Been a Stripper' award. Most apt no? No? I'm not going to be heavily pregnant for ever okay?!

Who can resist a pink bunny humping a dance pole?!

I'm supposed to list 7 personality traits as evidenced by my blog so here goes:
1. I have a foul mouth
2. I like food
3. I'm creatively frustrated
4. I love where I live
5. I have a strange attraction to arbness
6. I've a love/hate relationship with parenting (not with my child, just parenting as a concept)
7. I'm a big softie

Ack and I'm supposed to pass this one but I'm notoriously bad at that part and now I really have spent far too much time on this post so - shock shock horror horror - I'm not going to!

Oh and shredding chicken? The most therapeutic thing I've done all week.
Shredding a rotisserie chicken by hand - perfect for processing all kinds of brain-mess. Just not so great when you've then got greasy, fatty hands and only a small bathroom basin to wash them in. Bring on the end of the renovations for the love of blog!!