Yesterday was complete and utter garbage. Turning a page, rather than ripping one out, again. Critters need cleaning out. Although, I've already gotten filthy looks from them during our belated brunch for my even suggesting doing same. Overdue is overdue. Stench does not tend to mature well with age. Any age, for that matter. Stink brings bugs. I don't countenance bugs. On windshields, or otherwise.
Ditto for my fridge. Same goes. Part of my issue is that I'm indifferent towards and disinterested in a lot of food. I'm like a magpie with ADHD when it comes to my affinity for pretty grocery packaging, and my “Oh, look -shiny!” mentality. In no way whatsover means that I should acquire anything, because most often, the contents definitely do not match up to whatever's being promised.
I'm certainly no cook. I baked, once upon a time. I learned from watching my maternal grandmother working in her kitchen. My Christmas desserts were sold in a restaurant, at one time. During another very distant and different life. Will I bake, this year?. I dunno. Solo is such a dull gig. All work and no play. Not wrong. Nor do two wrongs make anything right. Still. Life.