I can never title my entries until after I’ve written them.

I was looking through the freezer a few minutes ago, trying to find something to thaw, throw into the crockpot, and have for dinner tomorrow night. The pickings are mighty slim in there. Kind of like a deserted igloo. But I dug around all the bread heels and burritoes and mystery foil and found a big pork tenderloin. I took it out and looked at it, and suddenly all I could think of was that episode of “Outer Limits” where the abused wife killed her husband with a frozen leg of lamb, and then put it into the oven to bake. And when the police came, she served them the murder weapon. I mean the leg of lamb. A classic episode.

So I thawed the tenderloin in the microwave and cut it into rounds and threw them all into the crockpot with a sliced onion and a bottle of barbecue sauce. I figured that if I looked at it in its frozen state for too awful long, I might be tempted to go bash something. Or get up a game of baseball.

Bash something. Bash it really hard.

Not my husband. He’s a sweetie. But something.

Even just thinking about it was kind of cathartic.

Anyway. We’re having barbecued pork tenderloin for dinner tomorrow. I guess I should fix something to go with it, huh. I’ll check out the mystery foil in the freezer tomorrow. Maybe I hid some vegetables or something in there.

When the kids were little I used to hide candy bars in the freezer, wrapped in foil and labelled ‘chicken fat.’ I stole that idea from Erma Bombeck. It worked, too.

I searched that freezer for candy years ago, though. Some prowling candy thief already found it all. It might have been me, I don’t remember. It was all too long ago. And I’ve slept since then.

Not much, mind you. I’ve never slept very well, and lately I haven’t slept at all. Seriously. My nerves are shot. Disillusionment really takes a toll.

Life can be so unfair.

Facts, as Don Quixote de la Mancha so often said, are the enemy of truth.

Oh well.

I can already smell the bbq sauce wafting through the house. There’s nothing like the smell of good barbecue. And when you cook it in a crock pot, it will melt in your mouth.

Maybe I’ll make some biscuits. And some potato salad.

Anybody want to come over for dinner in a few hours? A pork tenderloin the size and shape of a baseball bat will go a long way. C’mon over.

My beautiful children have gone back to their homes. I love it when they visit.

I realized tonight that when I do laundry, I pin socks together with my son’s diaper pins. And he is 24 years old. Can diaper pins be antique? (Item: he has not personally used the diaper pins for many, many years.)

When I cruise around Blog Explosion, I realize that the majority of bloggers are much more interesting than I am. Sorry about that.

Maybe next time, I’ll use the frozen tenderloin to really bash something. That would be interesting. Already done, and filmed, and archived, but interesting all the same.

They re-made “The Twilight Zone,” didn’t they?