Fate Toys with The Write Woman (336 Days and Counting)

Pasta, rice, and bread. Filling, but fattening, foods that stretch.

Remember yesterday when I borrowed fifteen dollars from my rent for milk and cheese staples, planning on getting us through ‘til next week? I made these totally scrumptious cinnamon rolls to die for, without a recipe and only six ingredients. But once you get the whole biscuit recipe essentials down you can make sweet rolls, biscuits, dumplings, pizza dough—a lot of stuff. And with the full bag of flour in the pantry, I figured we’d be okay for a while.

Broomhilda is not the cleanest tenant on the block apparently. Although we have separate water heaters (hers is new and holds more than ten minutes of hot water), her clothes washer and dryer are on the opposite side of the wall in the basement and I’m fairly sure her machine uses it. When I’m washing dishes or showering, our supply trickles when her machine goes on.

I already told you what happened a couple of years ago when she flooded the basement and refused to turn her washing machine off, right? It is my belief that before she makes Lassie for dinner, she tosses her into the washing machine to ensure she’s clean, clogging the plumbing. In the kitchen, peering down both sink drains, the water is visible. In the shower, the tub begins to fill. However with only ten minutes of hot water, there’s little worry about it flooding. She and her Baby Huey son were up late last night, over my bedroom, squabbling. When someone screams two decibels lower than a dog can hear, but you can’t understand what they’re saying, it’s even more frustrating.

Think hard enough for the tastebuds

To sleep, I focus on the white paper above my bed on the ceiling (the one I can’t really read without my glasses). I know what it says. Relaxing my muscles, breathing slowly, closing my eyes and imagining I’m sleeping in my new house. The windows are open and a gentle breeze causes the curtains to ebb and flow, filling my lungs with fresh mountain air, even sending a chill through the room. I imagined my barbecue grill wasn’t in my storage unit, but was on the rear deck, under my window, grilling shish-kabobs, and I was taking a nap—just like the past. With the lullaby music coming from my computer in Cameron’s room, I managed to mentally drown out the dogfight from upstairs between Broomhilda and Baby Huey.

I woke up early this morning and grabbed my bag of flour out of the pantry. It was still full. I should have enough for our Friday pizza, biscuits this morning, sweet rolls tomorrow morning, and if I held my breath really tight, I might squeeze out a day or two for next week. Gathering all the ingredients and placing them on our bistro table, I set to work. I open the flour to discover it is infested with weevils.

What are we going to do now, Fate? In this match of chess you may feel a checkmate coming on, but don’t get overconfident—not yet. When I spent a few dollars purchasing a couple of black blouses for the library job, it was perfect for the photography position I have now with the requirement of wearing black. So go ahead, Fate, make your move. I’m not finished with you yet.

No checkmate, yet, bitch!