It is 1:30pm and I am still waiting for my roommate to leave the kitchen. It'd be nice if he'd leave the apartment, in fact. It seems that each time I want to go in the kitchen, he's already cooking something or having a party in there or cleaning up. And of course I don't tell him I want to use the kitchen; I simply let the resentment build until it gains enough momentum to roll into a grenade of unfounded anger and then I blow up on anybody who upsets the delicate balance by looking at me. Or, what is more common, I implode and baffle all bystanders who don't know what the &*$& my problem is. Such is the Way of Woman, right? I'm kidding.
Too many cashews.
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Okay -- made it into the kitchen. Everyone survived.
Here is my omelette, made complete with the most expensive eggs I could find. That must mean they are the best. Also: red onion, garlic, red bell pepper, spinach, campari tomatoes (lightly cooked in olive oil with the onion... I know one is not supposed to cook with olive oil...), medium cheddar without the food colouring; avocado on the side. Very nice.
Earlier, for breakfast: a spinach-strawberry smoothie.
After my seawall walk and baseball-throwing evening: cashews and water (again).
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