Letters of intent

Well there's been a bit of a lag in my posts over the weekend, but I think that's probably characteristic. Somehow having my husband around to help out around the house makes my days busier, not calmer. I've also been dealing with Ender's cold, my cold, and a bout of mastitis. For all of you who don't know what mastitis is, I'll spare you the gory details. I treated it with hot rosemary poultices and an overdose of echinacea, and I'm on the mend. From what I understand, it's normal for mastitis to strike when you're doing too much, and that probably is the case. As my son becomes more independent and able to play on his own for minutes at a time (oh the sweet luxury) I am spending less and less time on my butt and most time on my feet. Today I'm trying my damndest to relax, but both Mike and I are trying to get our transcripts in order for school applications, and because we do not have a printer nor fax machine, it's proving difficult. We briefly had a printer, gifted to us from my in-laws electronic graveyard, but after battling with it for several days, we decided it was definitely broken.

On the menu today: Sole Chowder and homemade bread. I've never made chowder before, so this will be an interesting experiment. The bread is made with leftover fat from a pork roast I made last week. Very depression-era style baking. I can only imagine animal fat would make bread even better.

I'm also kind of creatively tapped out. I'm trying to write my letter of intent for a costume studies program (so many letters of intent this year!) and I'm coming up completely empty. I guess it's hardest to write about the things you're passionate about. That is, without sounding creepy. The letter in my mind is playing out like this:

Hello, there. I think everything you guys do is awesome. I used to work across from your classrooms and stare forlorn through the window. Even if you don't let me in, I'd like to just stand around for a little while and touch things. Is that ok?

No that's not okay, Nicole, you weirdo. So the letter writing continues, fruitlessly.

I guess that's all for now. I'm not feeling well so forgive me if I'm not as loquacious as usual.