Thursday was mostly uneventful. I remember feeling well, almost had an optimistic outlook on life for a moment there; it was probably because my wife had been reading these entries and showering me with physical affection as a result (thanks love).
Dinner was pasta and chickpeas, a dish more suited for the autumn, but the weather made it feel appropriate. I added to the soffritto (there is no english equivalent - the base of the sauce, the stuff like onion and garlic you fry in oil to create the flavours) some prosciutto crudo trimmings that had been sitting in the refrigerator since forever. I was afraid they'd turn out rancid but luckily they didn't. While eating, my wife told me it was noticeable how my cooking has improved lately. On the one hand it is all I wanted to hear, given that a significant part of my obsession with cooking is about making her happy; on the other, compliments make me want to turn and run for the hills. I can never fathom living up to a compliment - a sincere one at that! What if one day we realise that my whole 'improvement' was simply down to using more olive oil and salt? I would have to find a new hobby to survive the embarrassment.
I let my guard down whilst chopping the rosemary and cut the middle finger of my left hand. It was just a nick at the tip, as thankfully the knife isn't too sharp, but it bled profusely. It kept bleeding for a while - you know, fingers are very vascularised, yadda yadda. This knowledge did not prevent my first thought from being "this is how I find out I have leukemia, isn't it? bleeding that doesn't stop. For fuck's sake". Eventually I placed a piece of cotton against the cut and wrapped the finger in brown medical tape, which stopped the bleeding. The wrapping was thick and the cotton was sticking out of it roughly where the nail should be, so my bandaged finger looked like fingers do in cartoons when smashed under a hammer. My wife found this hilarious and had a good laugh. Everything is suddenly great in the world for the duration of her laughter, like someone turned on the colour momentarily where it had been all black and white before. I like to imagine soldiers at war in another part of the world briefly considering a truce when she happens to laugh a few thousand kilometers away, and they have no clue.