delicata or della cotta, it's good squash
This post is not about the soup that I made last night. Not that it was a bad soup. Missy even ate the beet greens that were in it after only a few moments of hesitant prodding with her spoon. It’s not about the soup because I made the soup in a hurry. I was sick. I’d spent the weekend blowing my nose a lot and talking in the way that people do when their heads are great sacks of mucous. I felt ready for work on Monday, rode in, and suffered some embarrassment when a co-worker caught me staring blankly at my personal email for, like, seven or eight minutes. Having thus obtained independent verification that I was not in a productive state, I packed it in and went home early.
