It's funny how your attitude about something you've written--an email, say--changes at the prospect of it being shared, even anonymously. It was a brief indictment of another person, who managed that near-magical act of actually making me angry. I pulled out a fine, vindictive selection of adjectives, annoyed enough that at the time I didn't care if it were passed around. Perhaps it will do some good.

Dinner tonight: steamed broccoli, and a skin-on chicken breast with salt/pepper/parsley/dill/fresh oregano spread under the skin, then roasted. I do good work: it mostly had flavor. (I don't think much of chicken breast except as a complementary vehicle for flavoring.) Since I have to eat white meat if I eat chicken now, I've gotten to be a big fan of skin, not just because it protects the meat during roasting and grilling, but it has fat that keeps the meat moist and adds the flavor it so desperately lacks on its own. If I cared more about the fat, I could just not eat the skin, but I think it's an adequate reward for learning to enjoy a big pile of steamed broccoli. (Especially the stems. I love steamed broccoli stems. They're like...I don't know, some kind of perfect, generic vegetable. If you grew vegetable in a vat the way we're learning to grow meat, I feel it should be like broccoli stems.)

The euphoric feeling from earlier this month is passing away a bit, as I have to be engaged with my everyday life. That's okay: I'm still sitting, and still feeling good, and I didn't really expect the euphoria to stay.