Agoraphobia

Well, we had a beautiful weekend - saw Hellboy with a friend, and it was great (very post-Pan's Labyrinth but not as violent), hit the farmer's market on Sat. morning and scored some morel mushrooms for no less than - guess how much???? You'll never guess - $40/pound. We bought about a fourth of a pound, and then stretched it into two meals, one: whole wheat pasta with caramelized shallots and morels and two: good old fashioned, Indiana-style morels breaded with flour and fried in butter. Ain't nuthin' better, my friend. Why truffles get all the attention, I'll never understand. It's the morels that win the most coveted food award, in my book.

Today I went to the beach for a couple of hours. The water felt like it was approximately 50 degrees, but the beach was lovely.

Went on a longish bike-ride with M (culminating in home-made ice cream). Got mildly distressed due to aforementioned near-death misses. Came home in something of a tizz. Seems like every time I return to my house I feel as if I've cheated death. Have been asked before why my blog is called Agoraphobia - is not because I'm afraid of leaving the house - is more that I don't want to. If you don't mind me sharing just one of my many emotional quirks, whenever I go on a trip, I'm fairly certain that someone I hold dear to me (including myself) is bound to die a horrible death. One time I told my dr. if I might be agoraphobic and she said, "No... it's when you want to leave, but you can't, that you've got it." I suppose there must just be another term for not wanting to leave at all.