Ungrateful Child

My mom stopped by this morning.  I'd forgotten she mentioned that she might do so.  I kind of wasn't down with it.

Apparently, while there are drawbacks to my being home alone, I dig the autonomy, and that messed my game.  Not that I really have much of a game.  But I did have some; it just didn't involve her.  It involved some mish-mash plan of making a lasagna and a piecrust and responding to an email I (bravely, I think) sent to some financial advisor-guy that I interviewed well over a year ago who mentioned well over a year ago that he worked with writers on putting together books profiling successful businesspersons, and so I researched (aka googled) what he'd been up to and basically asked if he's still taking on writers, and while he's currently not, he graciously asked for some info from me in case things change in the future, and I really want to get back to writing that email.

(Whew!  That was quite the run on.  So, some dude will now totally want to hire me for my killer writing skills.  Boo-ya!)

(I'm gonna call that run-on "stream of consiousness", folks.  Now it's all stylish and sophisticated, right?)

(And "gonna" is being colloquial.  Got it?  I'd like to believe I know what I'm doing.)

So back to my mom.  She's all into checking out the china cabinet I bought off my aunt and transported into our dining room.  (As an aside, I technically haven't bought it yet.  I'm not sure she even cares.  It was ready to go to Goodwill.)  I don't mention the we dropped it on the pavement in the move, but doesn't it still look great?  Mom has some $400 or so Steuben bowl for me.  It needs to be washed.  I go to wash it.  In my sink.  My awesome, super large, one bowl Silgranite sink that I love love love, and I think everyone should get.  Only once in a blue moon do I kind of wish it had two bowls.

This morning would be one of them.

Because I have spaghetti sauce thawing out in the sink.  (Remember aforementioned lasagna plan.  Weekends coming up; a lasagna would be a nice meal.)

When I go to wash the bowl, I forget about the sauce.  Shit!  Is that soap on the sauce?  Or just water bubbles?  (This probably wouldn't have occured in a two bowl sink.)

I don't know.  I "rinse" off the still-frozen sauce, but I don't know.

"It's fine," my mom says. 

Of course she says that.  But I'm not so sure.  I hate throwing away so much nice sauce, so I put it back in the freezer with some cryptic note that says it might be soapy, which means maybe I'll eat soapy spaghetti for a week, but not the rest of the family.  (I'm all martyr-y that way.)  Or maybe I'll eventually toss it, but I have to work my way up to that sad wastefullness. 

Meanwhile, guess I'm not making lasagna.

And I still haven't emailed that financial dude.

I'm still not sure what I even do, so it seems ungrateful to complain that my doing's have been messed with.

Oh, well.  There's always laundry.