Bethie's bad day chicken

So the last week at work has been a tough one. I'll not air my grievances here in cyberspace, but suffice it to say I've been discouraged. Needless to say I've not been uber motivated to cook. I really just want to order pizza. But then I remember that I'm almost 31 (I have a few more hours left to be 30) and can't eat whatever I want anymore so I decide I'm even less in the mood to get fat than to cook so I start scouring the pantry. And here's what ya get, Bethie stream of consciousness style.
Start with two chicken breasts. Thank goodness you bought fresh instead of the usual frozen because you totally would have forgotten to defrost them in your work-induced funk. Pound them with a meat hammer to flatten to 1/4" thick. Whew. Doesn't it feel good to whack your anger out on innocent poultry? Dredge in flour and pan fry in a drizzle of olive oil 5-6 minutes per side.
While the chicken sizzles (oh, that sound is satisfying) open the fridge and stare. Oh, I could use the rest of that tiny bottle of wine I opened for... Huh, what did I use that for? Can't remember. Moving on. And maybe some garlic. Oh, I forgot about that beef broth! I need to make something with beef later this week. Maybe a roast. Or stroganoff. Mental note taken. Back to the chicken. Broth. I need broth. Oh, time to remove the chicken and deglaze the pan. Hmm, not quite a half cup of wine but that'll do. Turn it up, let it simmer until reduced by half. Seriously, how do you judge that? OK, mix a little flour in the broth. Stupid lumps. Where's my tiny whisk? OK, pour in lumpy broth. Turn up heat and boil. Hmm, maybe a little thyme? Or sage? Hold them both up to the baby for her opinion. No, Elle, sorry, Mommy's not in the mood for sage. We're going with thyme. Just like a half teaspoon. And a big scoop of garlic. Yes, the jarred stuff. I'm way too lazy to chop garlic today, although whacking it open with the flat side of the knife is also quite satisfying. Simmer until thickened or about 3 minutes. Meanwhile nuke the frozen green beans you bought for the baby that she refuses to eat so now you and the hubby are chipping away at that giant bag. Plate your chicken and beans, pour sauce over all. Hmm, not bad for being made up as you go. And funny, your bad day seems a little better. And you don't even have to feel guilty for eating pizza.
Kinda makes you glad you live in your head, not mine, huh?