Sep. 28th, 2012 10:15 pm
Recuperating
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muckefuckSo Dad's at home resting the new knee. You hear a lot of stories of hospitals being in a rush to discharge people, but he actually had to nag his doctor and push the staff to get released. Knowing Dad, he'll try to figure out how long it takes most people to recover from this sort of surgery and then see if he do it in half the time. His wife was out when I called so he talked my ear off until she got back as I struggled not to fall asleep in the comfy chair. Naturally we'll miss our annual outing to Door County, so he's suggested we compensate by heading somewhere southerly this winter.
Somehow I managed to give![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu my cold while still keeping it for myself. (Funny how that works.) He stayed home the whole day; I pushed through the morning but just couldn't face an afternoon of answering noob questions and buggered out at one. It might've turned out differently had Pablo made it into work, but in his absence I had to deal with someone from a neighbouring department who genuinely couldn't comprehend why I wouldn't be interested in hearing a detailed account of how she proposed to solve a cataloging problem relating to the reissue of Midsomer Murders when all I needed to know was that Pablo had a plan and he would put it into action on Monday.
Fortunately I managed to remember we had some manaqeesh in the refrigerator, so dinner tonight was a bit less basic than just a can of Progresso minestrone. While rooting around, I uncovered a ball of Mürbeteig left over from the Pflaumenkuchen and was able to surprise my better half with a mini-tartlet. The cherry jam he'd picked up at Gene's and only just opened was so chunky I was able to treat it just like pre-made pie filling.
The one unexpected pleasure of the morning was what I hope was my last interview of the year. She was so earnest, sweet, and self-deprecating that I found myself actually hoping my current first choice would have accepted a job elsewhere so I could offer the position to her. But not only hadn't he, he made it clear that he was holding off on accepting another offer until he heard from me, so that clinched it. Now the best she can hope for is a personalised letter honestly expressing what a difficult decision she made it.
Our plans for tomorrow are kind of in shambles at this point. Awkwardly, we have houseguests coming--one of them rather germ-phobic. For all I know the Old Man is going to be sending the whole day in bed, meaning we might have to call off dinner with Turtle and her wife. I'll most likely still make it to Game Night, but I might not stay long. And we might not have any mooncakes for the Mid-Autumn Festival, but I imagine the moon will rise grandiosely all the same.
Somehow I managed to give
monshu my cold while still keeping it for myself. (Funny how that works.) He stayed home the whole day; I pushed through the morning but just couldn't face an afternoon of answering noob questions and buggered out at one. It might've turned out differently had Pablo made it into work, but in his absence I had to deal with someone from a neighbouring department who genuinely couldn't comprehend why I wouldn't be interested in hearing a detailed account of how she proposed to solve a cataloging problem relating to the reissue of Midsomer Murders when all I needed to know was that Pablo had a plan and he would put it into action on Monday.Fortunately I managed to remember we had some manaqeesh in the refrigerator, so dinner tonight was a bit less basic than just a can of Progresso minestrone. While rooting around, I uncovered a ball of Mürbeteig left over from the Pflaumenkuchen and was able to surprise my better half with a mini-tartlet. The cherry jam he'd picked up at Gene's and only just opened was so chunky I was able to treat it just like pre-made pie filling.
The one unexpected pleasure of the morning was what I hope was my last interview of the year. She was so earnest, sweet, and self-deprecating that I found myself actually hoping my current first choice would have accepted a job elsewhere so I could offer the position to her. But not only hadn't he, he made it clear that he was holding off on accepting another offer until he heard from me, so that clinched it. Now the best she can hope for is a personalised letter honestly expressing what a difficult decision she made it.
Our plans for tomorrow are kind of in shambles at this point. Awkwardly, we have houseguests coming--one of them rather germ-phobic. For all I know the Old Man is going to be sending the whole day in bed, meaning we might have to call off dinner with Turtle and her wife. I'll most likely still make it to Game Night, but I might not stay long. And we might not have any mooncakes for the Mid-Autumn Festival, but I imagine the moon will rise grandiosely all the same.