Another Sunday is upon us. A day of rest but also a day to feast. There is a shoulder of pork slowly roasting away in the oven. Potatoes are being roasted in duck fat and I'm contemplating opening the Rioja to breathe. I'm expecting visitors so always nice to cook for others.
My weekend opera fest has included Mozart and Puccini. I've done a little reading and have barely given a thought to next week. This is how weekends should be, trouble free.
Yet I cannot avoid tomorrow. Not sure what it will bring other than lunch with the former Dean of Students. My mystery post of last week has yet to come to pass. As each day goes by it becomes more and more unlikely. But nothing ventured nothing gained. Getting better from mental illness involves taking risks. Well calculated risks. Some pay off some don't. Where will I be in a week? I'll let you know when I get there.
I Heard a Voice.
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