How is this dinner, and not dessert? Not that I’m complaining, but come now, Jews. You’re pulling my leg, right?
Where did I leave off? Oh, right, with an aborted attempt at blintz casserole and my gradual descent into the gaping maw of madness. I’m back to my standard non-psychotic level of insanity, and that can only mean one thing: I can stop throwing dozens of hours of my life away watching Olympic beach volleyball in a drug-induced stupor.* Also, baked cheese.
*Although I did like how they played the cock rock in between serves, to make it seem like they were playing at a real Jersey beach circa 1991 and not a stadium in China. Can YOU take me down to paradise city? I thought not.**
**Also at a Jersey beach the matches would probably involve more brawling, which I believe the Olympic Committee frowns upon outside of events that are supposed to involve brawling, like judo and field hockey.
Cost for 2: $0.00. Score!
Meds have been increased, added, and subtracted. Tests have been taken and statuses are being monitored. Body parts have been poked and prodded. Heads have been shrunken. Feelings have been processed. Phlebotomists have become intimate with the crook of my left arm (my arm does not reciprocate).
And things are going well, very well, although I’m a little gun shy and am still knocking on wood.
Were I at home tonight, I would have made pasta primavera tossed with some bagna cauda (a pungent saute of garlic, anchovy, crushed red pepper and olive oil).
Come Thursday night, I’m back baby.
The epic battle of modern pharmacology v. my mis-wired brain continues, with my mis-wired brain making a strong comeback effort in the fourth quarter to try and defeat modern medicine’s efforts to tame it.
And so the war rages on.
Have I mentioned to y’all lately that you’re awesome? Because you seriously are.
Modern pharmacology and I are gradually clawing our way toward stability, and most of you correctly surmised that I’d be skipping my own First Thursday for August. Which I did, because it was getting hard to adjust seasoning correctly what with all the tears in the pot fucking up the salt levels. But some of you didn’t skip it, because you are supportive and wonderful and possibly also slightly crazy yourselves, and I couldn’t deprive you of the joys of roundupedness.
Here are your seasonal, colorful veggie dishes:
I tend to have clear-headed periods late at night, so…
Yes, I am having something of a relapse. No, it doesn’t involve me being misdiagnosed or incorrectly medicated or hospitalized or lying on the couch begging for the sweet release of death, so at least there’s been a net gain in things since last year.
Hey, everybody. I just wanted to stop in and let all of you know how we’re doing here since it may be a little weird to see that last post and then nothing for a week.
Michelle is going through a bit of a rough time at the moment, as you can all tell by now. She’s been through worse and she’ll pull through this just fine, it’s just shitty while she’s stuck in the middle of it. Luckily she has the support of a great doctor, terrific family and wonderful friends – both in real life and online – to help get through it all. All your comments in the other post mean a lot to both of us. It’s amazing to think that people she’s never met would care so much about her.
Unfortunately, she’s not much into cooking or blogging right now. So just hang tight and she’ll return soon. And if I ever figure out how to upload photos to this website I’ll post pictures of the blintz casserole I made a few days ago. Even my Grandma Ruth loved it. (“It’s better than chocolate cake!”)
And as far as our financial state is concerned, don’t worry. It isn’t nearly as bad as she made it seem. We’re doing fine. But don’t let that stop you from sending us money – preferably cash in unmarked envelopes.
In all seriousness, we both want to thank you all for your support, whether you’ve posted comments, sent emails, or just continued to read the site. You’re all awesome.