- The Horned Melon was supposed to taste of bananas and cucumber. That is a very generous description. It barely tasted of cucumber.
- i decided the painting of my toes was just a failed anatomy study and painted over it, and then did the same to a study of a lemon, and the clinically depressed pomegranate (so called for its grey background and sorry demeanor). You would think I had slaughtered Gary’s children. He’s a drummer so he doesn’t know what it’s like having your failures stare at you while you are trying new things. I still have the apples, the teacup, the croquet balls, and the water droplets. Sheesh.
- My hair decided to turn 30% grey in the last eight weeks. No, there’s been no stress. I told the stylist it was like when my bosom decided to go from 0 to 32C in one week. I’ll try to age gracefully if not gradually.
- I saw an old friend at work, and she hugged me, and apologized as my friends do, because they know I am Not A Hugger. Later that same day I saw an old male friend and I spontaneously hugged him. So I’m a Hug Whore. Men I hug, women I don’t. I don’t know why. I suppose male hugs have no significance, and women’s hugs mean “you look like you need pity” or “think of me as your mother.”
- Gary has been helping me gut the savings account. He bought a toilet that was - let me check - three times want a normal person would spend on a toilet. The new mailbox that is waiting to be assembled was also three times what a normal mailbox is. I am quite pleased with the toilet, all clean and uncracked, and a good three inches taller than the old one. The mailbox will not only be lovely but will be installed on the correct side of the driveway. Why are mailbox positions regulated and other equally important things are not? Like Men’s and Women’s public toilets. Men on the left, women on the right? No. No sense to it. Highway exits need to be standardized too.
- Our office is moving soon to a new floor and a new Google-like floor plan. No assigned seats. I realized today this is probably to last month of my life I will sit at an assigned desk.
See? Nothing is happening of any significance. Things are fallow and aging and decaying, except for toilets and mailboxes, which keep me young.
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