Sweaty, nasty day. Sunlight like syrup, sticky and running all over everything. Attracting bumblebees, speeding them on their little errands--and I don't fuck around with those things since that one flew up my nose that time and got stuck.
Two massive loads of laundrey--linens, clothes, hats, everything. Got cruised by not one, but two creepy guys at the laundry mat. Only one of them was there for actual laundry. The other just walked around in his shiny, ugly shirt and picked his nose. For, like, an hour. Seriously--what did he have up there? The treasure of Sierra Madre?
Shlepped heavy ass laundry. Dodged bumblebees. And after that, because I hadn't sweated enough, I walked crosstown and got my bridge :)
Not so yay? My fucking skull. Fucking ow. And let's not even get into my sinuses (hah, I said "get into my sinuses." I'm funny). The pressure from this . . . maybe one ounce bar--gevalt! I didn't realize how move-y my face was, and now, something as simple as raising my eyebrows feels like someone hit me in the face with a stick. A pretty-stick, obviously.
My piercer guy is so sweet, and his kids are ridiculously cute.
Thinking of recording myself reading that minor milestone piece on the YouTubes--inspired by the wonderful John Evo.
Argh . . . my fucking face. . . .
"No horror can be more terrible than the daily torture of the commonplace." --HP Lovecraft