this chicken won't eat itself. i only realize the weird morbidity of that statement after writing it, and make sure to wonder if our own chickens are safely in their coop for the night. luckily, they've recently learned to put themselves to bed, and since the weather's good i won't worry past wondering until tomorrow.
but this chicken won't eat itself. and the same fatty stickiness that's lately had me buying whole chickens from the deli case makes it difficult to type. but even for all i'd like to dash this off before i've forgotten the sentences i'd planned, i love it. i'm otherwise a vegetarian, which doesn't need to be said for other than to impress by contrast how much i've given up not indulging (now on multiple occasions) my longtime dream to sit down and finish a whole rotisserie bird -- but now that i've said it i know it makes me sound more the apologetic hypocrite than the conscious exceptor. i'll temper the morbidity by not picking the carcass completely clean, because i know that just means more meat in next week's soup. "volver" is on in the background. i've seen it before so don't have to worry about following the subtitles. also, it's fittingly filled with food, and i love almodovar's colors.
oh! but it's done. all those sentences are forgotten. the chicken did me in. and i accept that revenge. we'll both enjoy the soup, i think. they're serving up mojitos in "voler," and i suddenly want another nightcap. sadly, i find out that you shouldn't leave sparkling wine in the freezer.
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