i don't want to talk about it

I finally gathered up the discipline to sit down and attack the penultimate draft of the screenplay and my program, Final Draft, wouldn’t let me in. I panicked, of course. I won’t go into detail but after turning a couple of ways for help and then being forced to wait for it I started reading cookbooks.

Very soothing. For a while.

I read old ones dating from the early days when I had babies ad tried to plan meals that would allow me to relax before dinner. Casseroles were the solution: make-ahead dinners that could cook in the oven while I nursed the current baby. That oldest baby just retired; so did the second one. Oh my, time flies.

The oldest one developed a fondness for burnt cauliflower. That was because I used to turn on the cauliflower when I sat down to nurse whoever the youngest baby was - and forget it. She got used to it, I guess, or else she was teasing me later when I served cauliflower that I had inadvertently burnt.

“mmm!” she said. “Burnt cauliflower” Yeah, I guess she was teasing. I just realized that now. Slow learner!

A human voice responded to the 800 number I was told to call in California and made a proper introduction: “FD, meet BJ’S new computer; BJ’s new computer, meet FD.” My new computer was activated and the cursor stopped sulking. I can work now. Just another day or two lost. But I learned something I didn’t know before, about my cauliflower and my daughter.

I don’t want to talk about it.