Oh, it is "that" sort of day

Oh, it is "that" sort of day, the kind where one is greatful that one doesn't have to venture outside.  Brrrrr!

I've lit the fire, in front of which the bulldog is comfortably stretched out and Sam and I are laptops at twenty paces, oh, um, 3 paces, I just measured it out, on either side of the coffee table, as the rain falls tinkly on the tin roof.

And the morning drifts away, all overcast and closed in around us.

Then, seemingly, in no time at all, Sam is behind the pasta machine making us lunch. He bought a pasta machine the other day, he's wanted one for the longest time. I told him that the chefs I'd known had only ever used one of those silver, manual type machines, but Sam wouldn't listen. He wanted electric. He wanted fully automatic. He wanted a machine that would do all the work. I perused the cooking, expecting olives and anchovies and tomatoes and oregano, but instead I saw green and garlic and chilli and meat, which, apparently is called Chinese Italian fusion, veggie and beef pasta. Lovely. My tummy is all a flutter with gastric juices in anticipation.
The pasta was great.

The cat is curled on the rug on the couch.

The carpenters are playing. Rainy days and Mondays and all of that.

It rained all day. Sometimes it rained hard, smashing into the roof crash bang, crash, crash, crash, until you think the spouts are going to overflow and water is going to leak into the house. The sun never really came out, just grey all day. We didn't leave the house. I kind of love those days, who cares if you stay in doors all day.

We listened to music. I wrote. Sam studied up on programming, as he starts a new job in 2 weeks. He got retrenched, for the second time. But he got a new job in a week, the first job, and as it turned out, the only job he went for. Clever him.

I'm still feeling allergic to work. I tell people I am on long service leave... which I am. Shrug. I'd rather be broke doing something I love, than be rich and be unhappy. Of course, being both is the trick.