And let their juices mingle

I made soup, get your mind out of the gutter.

Roughly the recipe for Escarole soup with garbanzo beans and pasta, except I couldn't find escarole. Also, I used dried marjoram/oregano/dried pepper mix, added potatoes and carrots, black lentils, coriander seeds, used (organic!) vegetable bouillion instead of stock, and added a half-onion. That's right, vegan soup. It almost overflowed in the pot. It's quite good, so I might just make it every week. Or every night, although it will take me a couple days to work my way through this.

So, I'm only a militant vegetarian when asked if I'm a militant vegetarian. I tried keeping it cool with the housemate, but there's something about, "You know, there are two kinds of vegetarians:" (and you know where that goes) that is like throwing gas on a fire for me. Imagine walking up to someone--"There are two kinds of Americans:," or "There are two kinds of women:," except this time it's a conscious decision on the person's part. I told him I was militant, but the glory of our liberal society is that I don't have to kill him. I forgot about this, although I knew he was a farmer, but it turns out that he's a cattle farmer. So, you know, argued for a while. Then I ate my soup and he ate his.

In other news, I slept for 3 hours last night (from around 2-5) in the midst of finishing my paper. Turned it in at 11 this morning, and now I just kind of want to start another one. I might have postpartum depression. Except I just played violin for a couple hours instead.