I took to cooking today, my first full day at home by my lonesome. I picked out some recipies that looked interesting, bummed some grocery money off my mom, and went about fixing dinner. The results were wonderful. I started out with some hot mushroom crustades, followed by rosemary baby red potatos and a parmesan-crusted chicken breast with tossed greens in a basil vinigarette. I planned things out and set up a schedule so everything was done right and done on time. I'm doing a dinner party for my mom's friends tomorrow night.
So I'm back into reading because it gives me something to do and it lets me not think about Courtney. I'm reading The Hours by Michael Cunningham. It won a Pulitzer. It's better than being stabbed with an ice pick, but it's not earth-shattering. He uses description excellently. I find it interesting that he seems facinated with lesbians and lesbian desires. I hope that stupid guy fantasies weren't mistaken for profound thoughts.