Washing Off the Blood

The longer I stay here, alone, at my father’s apartment, the more and more domestic I become. This morning I woke up and job-hunted a bit. It looks like I’ll tackle administrative positions at BU tomorrow. But for today, I volunteered to be an alumni interviewer. There’s a good chance they have enough interviewers in my area, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. Intermix everything I’ve said with a little math, then add a good solid hour and a half or so dedicated to relativity.

But even I need more than math. I also need to eat. And that’s the purpose of this post. Recently my dad and I brought home a six pound leg of lamb and fresh rosemary and garlic. Tonight’s the night we eat it. And now I sit, just having dressed the meat with a garlic and butter marinade and washed the dishes, waiting to prepare the potatoes — it’s important to time these things — before they all go in a roasting pan. And the while Creedance Clearwater Revival, sometimes spiked with Three Dog Night, blast in the background. Somehow the music seem appropriate enough as I washed the lamb’s blood from my sink.

If you’re in the area, feel free to stop by. The four of us couldn’t hope to finish this in one sitting.

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