I blithely make breads (foccaccia the other day, a puff pastry pizza last night, cupcakes about a week ago) and eat them. Mostly I eat all of them. I don't mention them although I leave them out sometimes, an invitation. I make meals for myself, full meals, full of veggies and potatoes and anything that seems nice to eat or drink. Wine, iced tea, water. Sometimes, often, I don't finish all that I make and I save it overnight. Then I eat the rest in the morning. I don't want him to starve but I want him to be thinking rather seriously, rather critically, about getting a job.
I ask myself, why? Why is it that the people who enter my life tend to be a little nuts one way or another? I suppose it's because I am too. There are few people I would have invited into the old house to stay even a day, much less several years (I think we're going on five now!). There was Ron, clearly and certifiably nuts. And now Paul, who is just vaguely asperger-like nuts.