Waking up around 3 p.m.
Breakfast: Plain Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.
Business.
Putting things up on Craigslist.
Lunch: Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Sea Salt and Cracked Pepper Chips. Honey Green Tea.
Work at China Wok. One order. One hour.
Going to the clubhouse provided by Chanticleer with Kevin, Josh, and few other friends. It’s in the middle of Linkhorn Bay off Birdneck—surrounded by a beautiful lake—the moon glowing behind the clouds—wild geese quietly floating—working out on the machines—swimming in the pool—breathing in the hot sauna air.
Eating Strawberry Yogurt and a Mango.
Pinball Locomotive practice in the dining room (Anthony’s band) along with Kevin on violin, Richie, and Rusty. Anthony really wants me to throw down some keys—I play the electric organ and a little bit of mandolin.
Dinner: Pita and Hummus. Persian Cucumbers and Green Peppers.
Becca stops by rocking her new car.
Corralling Josh, James, and Becca to go exploring on the grounds of Friends School down the street. Riding the Razor scooter. Entering through the back way in the cul-de-sac, hopping the fence. James rips his shorts pretty bad from the sharp edges at the top.
“Man, this place is incredible!” Both Josh and I have our shirts off—running around—being a kid—climbing the monkey bar dome as James and Becca pretend to be ferocious zombies jumping up and reaching for their victims. This playground has a unique character, built out of thick cedar wood, which gives off a fresh rich wood odor caused from the rain earlier today. Compared to all the modern playgrounds made out of cheap oily plastic, this place is a goldmine for us night creatures. I’ve always been more affectionate to the older parks. Holding on tight to the tall rope swing—swaying like a jungle boy—emitting animal noises of all sorts—being free.
Back home. Twilight Zone on six TV’s is undeniably a better experience than just one TV.
Eating a bowl of Frosted Shredded Wheat.
Google work.
"The human body has been cherished since time immemorial as an instrument of pleasure and an object of aesthetic delight. Our body is our most intimate possession. As the carrier of our consciousness, it represents the only tangible evidence we have of our existence. Through our feelings about it, and our use of it, we define and express our personal identity. We feed it, train it, worry about it, suffer over it, adorn it with clothes, decorate it with ornaments, revel in its sensations, and marvel at its intricacy and beauty."
--- Priscilla Kapel
Snacking on Goldfish and watching this extra solar planet documentary.
Sleep 6:30 a.m.
No comments:
Post a Comment