I can feel something coming on, maybe a little sickness growing… and it feels like it’s starting behind my eyes…
When I close my eyes and roll them up or in a little, I think I can feel the sick working it’s way around inside my head, growing and moving…
There’s a certain lethargy, a certain level of frustration…
And my room is a mess, and my dad and my sister are coming up on Wednesday, and then I’m going down, and then the next day down further, all the way to Mexico… and from there by some route back home again… But my room is a mess. I began to work on it last night, and may be able to do more tonight… depends on the energy I find behind this sickness behind my closed eyes.
And I want my room to be cleaner, generally. But also more specifically. I want that side of the room, where I designed the furniture layout for the purpose but have not cleared the floor of other debris yet and have not got off my lazy ass to begin doing Yoga yet, clear so I can do Yoga every day/night. (I haven’t decided day or night yet. Probably night.) But also because I like to have my place a little tidy for company. I hate the idea of people seeing where I live but not being able to navigate it because of the stuff I tend to leave about the floor. I need to unpack my trash can so I’m not simply using a plastic bag and tossing my trash in it’s general direction and not thinking twice about whether it his its mark because the bag wasn’t standing up or particularly open anyway… And my desk. When that red fluid spilled, it hit a lof of things other than my keyboard… and if I had less clutter on my desk, there’d not only be a lot less things to worry about destroying, but perhaps a better place to put containers of red fluids that they’ll be less likely to spill from.
Where was I? Delerious. I’m going to drink another half gallon before I go to bed tonight. Yes, yes, more red fluids. Here’s a hint, for those of you not afraid to put in a little effort to win the grand prize of a tacky keychain: One of two acceptable answers for what spilled lies deep inside one of my favorite books, a particular one by Mel Gilden. That may have given too much away. It may just be a race now. Oh well. Someone other than myself may finally read that book, though. (Good luck; when I got it, it wasn’t a particularly easy find, most of Mel’s books having been out of print since I was in middle school.)
Okay, I’m going to go do other things. Like fight with Apple’s new music service, and ponder what it would be like to have an iPod… Sigh…
