have drugs; send hookers and money 27.07.06 2:45 p.m.
The skyline and mountain have been rendered 2-D again, thanks to fog and rainfall. It's sunny over here, and I wish it were raining the way it did this morning. I woke up just before 8 with Death Cramps, and humid heat is not the cure. Spacing out on my lovely orange-striped couch while awaiting the effect of two generic Naproxin to kick in, listening to the rain fall and sipping tea was. I've since traded pain for foggy-mindedness, rain for hazy, humid sun, and tea for... um, tea.
It's one of those days where it seems all too necessary to get out of the house, but I haven't anywhere to go or anyone to go with. Sure, I could call certain people for coffee or something, but it's really about feeling a need for a purpose, as if the outing has to be driven by something. I am blaming this vague, weird desire for outing-goals entirely on the pain medication. That said, I'm hoping the man-friend won't mind a little date this evening. He's a great listener, and has an incredible capacity for cheering me up and taking my mind off of things. (You know: Big, Ominous THINGS. My Big, Ominous THINGS right now are actually cluster groups of Small, Odious Things, and therefore requiring someone nimble and well-trained in the art of Happy Distraction Ninjitsu.) (Update: Man-friend just called to interrupt my writing let me know he'll be dining at his sister's place this evening, so I may have to order sushi and watch Blade Runner instead. Alternatively, I could pop a few more painkillers and enjoy the comedy gold which is the local cable tv selection.)
Why is it that whenever I shave my legs, I always miss a big spot on or near my knee? There's usually an errant wisp or two protruding from my ankle or (like today), right, smack in the front-center of my shin, as well. Not that it matters all that much, since I'm still sporting the ugly remains of what shall now be christened Mystery Death Hives. (I know, I know, I didn't die, but it sounds better this way.) The remains look as though I've taken a small bit of shrapnel recently, whereas the original Mystery Death Hives were more comparable to say, um, oh, Plague Boils. I'll leave that lovely image in your mind to fester a bit. Finished? Great; let's move on.
Note to the kids at home: get your waxing done professionally. At least you can sue someone if you develop Mystery Death Hives.
If anyone would like an adorable long-haired cat (recently shaved), white and grey with pretty blue eyes, answers to the name Mopp*, pees on anything that isn't cat litter, let me know. I don't change cat litter at 2am just to have it (metaphorically, thank Jeebus) thrown back in my face.
*Actually, she answers to anything that sounds human. Her reply is usually "Pet me!"
I am now off to drown my drug-enduced confusion in tea and cookies which I will conveniently forget contain gelatin. (Note to self: send creepy letters to Dare bakeries until they remove gelatin from their cinnamon cookies.) They're my only comfort, damnit!
listening:
reading:
ingesting:
(see entries before 20.11.05)
previously on Smothered Hope:
unreal - 20.05.08
in which our narrator kinda just babbles on a bit - 15.05.08
drank several margaritas last night. they were great. - 04.05.08
spacey - 29.04.08
i will most definitely regret posting this in public - 28.04.08