It does a body good

I like milk. I admit the thought of drinking lactose from a cow's teet is pretty non-appetizing at this point in my life (or wait, always) but somehow the processed byproduct of bovine mammary secretion is tasty, inviting, comforting. I had a conversation once with a marvelous medidatrix who posited that my craving for sugary tastes was linked to my wee days as a milk suckler, those tastebuds that responded to sweet mama milk forever linked to feelings of comfort. Or maybe that explains the creamy silky milky longings.

I only bring this up on account of just having swigged some moo juice, likely much to the (udder) disgust of the nearby Mr. HooferDoofer--an avid non-milk drinker to be sure. I too have been drawn to the soy side many a time, and often prefer it, but maybe there's some good in the tried and true moo. Organic, that is. No bovine growth hormone for this no-longer-growing girl.

Work day was somewhat depressing; the post-work stint in the gym has already done wonders for my mood, I can tell, though it was touch and go there for a bit. The mister man can attest to my somewhat downtrodden countenance (aka curling-up-into-a-ball-under-the-counter-and-groaning, followed by some intense laying-on-the-laundry-pile-and-sighing-heavily), and I profusely apologize for my grumpishness. I'm still not RIGHT about the whole thing, but I don't have to be a poo. Pooh! poooo...

Well post-workout (which was a feverish half hour of ellipticizing, a brief stint curling some 30 lb. barbells--wherein I surprised myself at my own pent up strength-slash-bitterness-about-the-work-thing-or-maybe-really-strength and nearly walloped myself in the face, and then another 20 minutes on the elliptical machine until my badly bruised foot--the reason for my recent adoption of FLATS of all things, me of the easy breezy everyday stiletto--was too numb and throbbing to keep me standing) we popped back upstairs, greeted by more strange squeeze doll noises from the bedroom computer (it's learning to speak trade all by itself... and hey, that was quite the parenthetical passage back there; but moving on) and I treated myself to the aforementioned milk gulp and some dried cranberries, and set about making a quick stir fry of veggies and chicken (from a frozen bag, I know... not my best work... and honestly, it was better last time, but it was fast and tasty and nearly fatless and replete, yes replete, with veggies, albeit semi-soggy reheated veggies). Semi-yum. And more chopstick fare (like the salad earlier today which prompted some co-worker queries, but hey, have you ever tried eating salad with a spoon? REALLY. Not the funnest.)

I have this theory that eating everything with chopsticks will make me more mysterious. Perhaps part of my mystery will be that I cannot physically eat sherbet, in which case I may have to settle for a life more ordinary. Because damn I love sherbet.