Betwixt and between
Feni is freakin' awesome. It worked; it worked beautifully.
Half an hour of joyful puissance; a short nap; and a little of self-loathing when I woke up with a bit of feni drool joining the microwaveable lasagna smeared on my T-shirt and realized I'd somehow neglected to shower that Sunday. Ah, the bachelor life.
The scientist in me wants to know: is it really the anti-microbial properties attributed to it in folklore, or one's intestines screaming: "ok, ok! We'll behave! Just whatever you do, don't do that to us again!"?
Whatever. Can't argue with success.
In other news, being incommunicado with K isn't working out very well for me. I'm checking email like every 30 seconds, and all that cleaning and organizing and getting centered and sorted that I was going to do? Yeah. Not so much. Time spent, on the other hand, surfing aimlessly while singing along loudly with the darkest and moodiest of Sondheim songs? Yeah. Most of it.
Who'd have thought that feeding oneself -- or, ok, buying "pizza for one" with one's head held high -- and the cats, and watering the plants, and making lunch could, in itself, be so enervating? Even brushing my teeth seems daunting. (No, not that he usually does that for me.) Guess I got those "don't-come-any-closer-'cause-you-know-how-much-I-love-you"
feelings; those "tell-me-that-you-love-me-oh-you-did-I-gotta-run-now" blues.
Half an hour of joyful puissance; a short nap; and a little of self-loathing when I woke up with a bit of feni drool joining the microwaveable lasagna smeared on my T-shirt and realized I'd somehow neglected to shower that Sunday. Ah, the bachelor life.
The scientist in me wants to know: is it really the anti-microbial properties attributed to it in folklore, or one's intestines screaming: "ok, ok! We'll behave! Just whatever you do, don't do that to us again!"?
Whatever. Can't argue with success.
In other news, being incommunicado with K isn't working out very well for me. I'm checking email like every 30 seconds, and all that cleaning and organizing and getting centered and sorted that I was going to do? Yeah. Not so much. Time spent, on the other hand, surfing aimlessly while singing along loudly with the darkest and moodiest of Sondheim songs? Yeah. Most of it.
Who'd have thought that feeding oneself -- or, ok, buying "pizza for one" with one's head held high -- and the cats, and watering the plants, and making lunch could, in itself, be so enervating? Even brushing my teeth seems daunting. (No, not that he usually does that for me.) Guess I got those "don't-come-any-closer-'cause-you-know-how-much-I-love-you"
feelings; those "tell-me-that-you-love-me-oh-you-did-I-gotta-run-now" blues.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment<< Home