Tuesday Hatred: The dishes are done
I hate being ill. I’m better now, but it was still hateful then. It is almost worse that my illness in its full flower had so brief a duration (one day, following one warning day). When the “fever” “broke”, naturally I sweated buckets, through my pajamas and my sheets—so I had to wash them again, so soon after having washed them previously. I hate trying to sleep with a clogged-up nose (“dose”). I hate how long it took me to remember that I own many analgesics which, if ingested, might relieve my headache (they did!). However, I kind of like the phase of recovery in which every morning one brings into the world gigantic gelatinous blobs of phlegmatic green goo. You really feel as if you’ve accomplished something.
I hate that piss-poor scheduling meant I had to miss a silent film which I wanted to see, because I had to stay home and mind the stove—on which was cooking something I wasn’t even interested in eating! (Illness, you know—which would also have interfered with my ability to enjoy the movie, of course.)
I hate the MUNI fare increase. I hate the way the scent of vegetable broth clings to the tupperware containers which previously contained vegetable broth.
Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.