In between work shifts. And even though this day is too busy, at least I’m not sitting around the house worrying about all of the things that I worry about.

Dinner tonight is homemade spaghetti (with Dad’s homemade spaghetti sauce), and my own homemade salad (spinach, gorgonzola, toasted pine nuts, dried cranberries, and blush wine vinagarette).? I like Dad’s spaghetti sauce a lot.? In a way, it doesn’t have the “homemade” taste, probably because my dad makes it by the 55-gallon drum and freezes it, so anytime we want spaghetti to eat, we defrost his sauce and put it on the spaghetti, so there’s really no pomp or ceremony to spaghetti night.? But it doesn’t taste commercial either, which is a flavor that bothers me, even when I have packaged “gourmet” sauce.? I think that any sauce that isn’t made by my dad has too much sugar in it (to cut the acidity of the tomatoes); but I like how acidic my dad’s pasta sauce is, and I end up adding shitloads of table salt to any jarred sauce I use.

Anyway, enough about spaghetti sauce.

I’m going to go die at work tonight.? I won’t be home until late.? Don’t wait up for me.

Edited to Add: Despite what I said earlier, I’m actually going to do Christmas cards, even though this is still the Worst Year of My Life^TM.? I wrote to a friend of mine who just got married–as a ploy to keep in touch/pump her for life information–for her new address so that I could send Christmas cards.? And, since Jesus is watching, now I have to be honest and send them out.? Damn, Jesus, mind your own beeswax.

…Sorry, Jesus, I didn’t mean to blashpheme.