Evening TV

We still don't have our furniture yet. Technically it could be here as late as the 21st. THE TWENTY FIRST, PEOPLE. That's twenty-one days without a microwave or baking sheet (they are all packed and hell if I'm going to buy a new one when we have like seven perfectly good ones in a box somewhere within the continental United States) which means all our hot food is cooked in A single pot I packed. By the way, that's a short "A" as in "A gun, let alone many guns which would necessitate an entire rack."

I really do miss all my kitchen stuff, though. All my non-perishables are also lost in the abyss somewhere: my spices...my flour...that one box of Pasta-roni that I keep telling myself I'll eat someday but I haven't and now it's been 3 years and I feel bad giving it away to a food pantry because come on it's like 3 years old but why am I never in the mood for fetuccini alfredo anyway?

I wish I had all my cooking stuff because the area I live in (and possibly all of San Francisco but I don't have proof to back this up) is LITTERED with small markets. I guess my neighborhood is also considered Little Russia, so there's all this crazy Russian and eastern European food I've never tried, including a serious amount of feta. And it's California, so of course they basically throw produce at you when you walk by. "You want an avocado? Catch! *THWACK!* I said catch!"

Maybe it's good that I can't cook all the new meals I'm envisioning, because without a job I probably shouldn't be buying expensive baklava ingredients anyway. But there's one thing I miss more than anything in the whole world. And it surprised me way more than it should: my couch.


*quietly sobs into her hand*

I don't know if this is a thing, but I am a Couch Person. Not Couch Potato, because that implies that I am lazy and don't go on adventures. But what I mean is, if I'm home and it's not dark out, I'm on the couch. I nap there. I watch TV there. I look at internet there (take a look at internet, Michael!). I blog there. I work from home there. In my studio, I only had an armchair. NOT GOOD ENOUGH. You can't stretch out on an armchair. I mean, you can sit sideways, but my rickety late-twenty-something body can't handle that position all day anyway (that's what she said--HEYO). And you can't lay in bed/air mattress all day because, besides feeling insanely lazy, you will never be able to fall asleep later. I don't even understand that phenomenon. How is your brain THAT stupid? "What? You were here all day! This can't POSSIBLY also be the place you want to sleep."

But I miss the weekdays spent on that couch. Me, sprawled out; Joe, huddled in the corner of the couch, thwarting my attempts at putting my cold feet under his butt. We'd make dinner and sit down in front of the TV to watch BSG or West Wing or something else nerdy. Then eventually we'd get up and walk to a totally separate room (imagine!) and go to bed.

That's what I miss most. That's what I want my stuff here for. Not the cookware, not the chilly-weather clothes, not the cat toothpaste because, oof, that is some CAT'S BRAAAAATH. But the couch and the simple, do-nothing, relaxing times.