Monday, I start the day with hope. I get up at a very reasonable hour, I head downstairs to Do Stuff. I take care of a disability matter and off goes that fax. I headed outside and watered the vegetables on my porch. I sprayed my entire garden for insects, and I fed a number of the plants. When I got back inside, I started messing with the oysters. Literally. I tried breading them with egg and panko and it was a disaster; I ended up rinsing off whatever panko had stuck to the oysters, and started over with a fresh egg and very fine cornmeal. That worked quite nicely. Single breading was more than enough. I was left with some egg and seasoned cornmeal. And then things got weird.
While I was waiting for the oysters to set up for frying, I took two lonely baking potatoes, left over from the German potato salad, stripped them of their dusty skins, boiled one and shredded the other. I chopped up a couple of green onions that were quietly contemplating their own demise in my refrigerator drawer. At which point I realized I was in enormous pain, all the way down my back and one leg, the type of pain that makes your eyes water. And yes, I sat down for a bit, and I swallowed some Advil, but I was too far down the road to abandon this project, so I gritted my teeth and got back on my feet.
Follow me: I mashed the boiled potato with a little butter. I beat the remaining egg from the oysters with some sour cream. I mixed the two potatoes together with the green onion. I mixed the egg into the potato, seasoned it and threw in some baking soda for good measure. It was a trifle soggy, so I stirred in the remaining cornmeal with which I'd breaded the oysters. Fried the oysters, lowered the heat and fried the little potato pancakes I'd formed. By then, I really was in tears from the pain. What can I say except, and at the risk of sounding like Malcolm Tucker, fuckity fuck fuck! I am in so much fucking pain! Even my good days always turn fucking bad! I can't call them latkes, because they taste suspiciously like oyster, which is one of those foods you just don't eat when celebrating a Jewish holiday like Hanukkah, plus you sure as hell can't eat these with apple sauce. I can't call them potato-oyster cakes, because there's really no oyster meat in there. They are simply Weird Fried Things with an interesting flavor, which is the culinary equivalent of saying your blind date has a great personality.
Dear God, this pain is well above the limits of my tolerance, and imperviable to Advil. What the hell did I do to deserve this? (Insert another Malcolm Tucker rant here.) I have no recourse but to take the Methocarbamol and Meloxicam that I was given by the orthopedist for muscle spasms and pain. They offer a bit more relief for a short period of time, but I have to ask myself if the assault on my stomach is worth it. I have no answer. When the stomach pain cuts across my entire diaphragm, I take Zantac and spin my prayer wheel.
Speaking of Peter Capaldi, I watched "Heaven Sent" again, and although I found myself drifting off yet again, after paying better attention to details, I got it. About as subtle as a crutch, and I got it. Not as bad as I originally thought, just not as good as I had hoped. But after I spent my own painful day in Hell yesterday, I was cheered up by the news that the Doctor Who Christmas Special is going to feature one of my favorite characters. Hello, sweetie!