6:23 a.m.It seems early, but I went to bed at 9 last night. R, too. He left work at about 7 because there was nothing to do and no one around.
I was watching the last third of a movie called Going All the Way with Jeremy Davies and Ben Affleck, and R watched the tail end of it with me. I think Jeremy Davies is a wonderful actor; that's why I could watch one-third of a movie, just to see him. He was in Solaris which George Clooney, which I saw not too long ago. I didn't recognize him in that (unless he was one of the guys I saw in the movie about computers I saw a long time ago).
I was hoping to wake up at 5 and go to the gym. But I didn't. I was probably awake at 5, tipping R's pillow to get him to stop snoring and breathing hard for a short period. I woke up at 2 and got up to pee. The house creaks like a bunch of old bones. You really couldn't sneak around in this house.
Night before last, R got home at about 2:30 in the morning. He went to the Gas Chamber, Tribe, the Chute, and then the Hermitage for a bite to eat. I wanted to ask him if he saw D out, but lost my nerve--or thought better of it. He was happy to tell me about the places he'd gone, but if I press him about particulars he gets put out sometimes. He doesn't want people (or me, anyway) prying into his affairs. And I guess I don't have any actual "right" to pry, since we're not a couple.
The funny thing is, that's the only thing that changed, the title. We're not a couple, but we sleep together. I jerked off the other morning (because he wasn't really interested in doing anything, it seemed to me), and he "helped" me. But I think we're happier and more comfortable in whatever capacity we're in now than when we were an official couple.
I managed to call F yesterday. I was reluctant, and he was very nice about it all. I told him I wish I didn't have to ask for his help, but there was no other option.
This morning, I need to print out the lyrics for the C&D songs and get them ready (put chords on them?). I also still have some highlighting to do for Co., and I picked up an application at Bongo East yesterday. It's one of those philosophical applications: "If you could spend an hour speaking to anyone dead or alive, who would it be, and why?" Seriously, that's one of the questions!
8:03 pm
I'm having a bowl of borscht. Boiled eggs don't hold up well to freezing and microwaving. The soup help up better than the guylas after being frozen, and I didn't even microwave it. No, wait, that's not true. I did microwave the guylas. I took it to work two days ago and I microwaved it and I couldn't eat more than half of of it. It's still sitting in the Co. refrigerator in its little blue-lidded Tupperware.
Jesse sure did like the boiled egg. It sat Easter egg red in the confetti of redded {sic} vegetables, carrots and onions and potatoes, from the matching shreds of beet. Boiled eggs are so beautiful just out of their shell, glistening like little alien pods. They are as delicate as they look. They are easily banged up in the freezer. The vegetables {sic - probably should be "yolks"} must get much harder than the whites can, and they press little pockmarks in the skin of the boiled whites. I bit off the end of the egg and the yolk had turned to mush and burst into my mouth. It's not nearly as pleasing as, say, a ripe strawberry bursting on contact with your teeth.
The toast makes up for the missing egg. Great Harvest, Nine Grain flavor, my favorite. I put some butter on it, just to put the icing on the cake. I notice {Jesse} hawkeyeing me now. It's like she thinks she has an "in" to my generosity now. I sit as the small chunks of butter are heating up and getting spreadable on the steaming toast. I lay it on the stone counter and a cloud of perspiration forms around it on the black stone. This counter top is always cold; I have to wear mittens when I'm writing at the island or else my pinkie finger gets numb.
I shoo Jesse away. Bayne heard something with his old ears when Jesse was chomping on the ruined egg. Now he's worked up a hunger, and since it's such an effort for him to get up on all four legs anymore, he hobbles over to the dog bowls and munches out of the full one. Jesse stands beside him looking pitiful, her head hanging over the empty bowl. Bayne tries to turn from the food bowl to the water bowl without shifting his weight off of his front legs. His back legs totter, like they're bouncing lightly in reduced gravity. Jesse moves in to finish what's left in the bowl. Bayne hobbles off; his over-developed shoulders exaggerated by his shrunken back end.
I wish R would show up right now, at 8 o'clock, like he did last night. And I wish he'd show up wanting to go out. But neither of those things is likely, since he shipped out early last night, and since he went out till 2:30 a.m. the night before.
I guess I'll eat the remaining jelly donut, make some tofu egg salad (for lunches) and highlight.
I was watching the last third of a movie called Going All the Way with Jeremy Davies and Ben Affleck, and R watched the tail end of it with me. I think Jeremy Davies is a wonderful actor; that's why I could watch one-third of a movie, just to see him. He was in Solaris which George Clooney, which I saw not too long ago. I didn't recognize him in that (unless he was one of the guys I saw in the movie about computers I saw a long time ago).
I was hoping to wake up at 5 and go to the gym. But I didn't. I was probably awake at 5, tipping R's pillow to get him to stop snoring and breathing hard for a short period. I woke up at 2 and got up to pee. The house creaks like a bunch of old bones. You really couldn't sneak around in this house.
Night before last, R got home at about 2:30 in the morning. He went to the Gas Chamber, Tribe, the Chute, and then the Hermitage for a bite to eat. I wanted to ask him if he saw D out, but lost my nerve--or thought better of it. He was happy to tell me about the places he'd gone, but if I press him about particulars he gets put out sometimes. He doesn't want people (or me, anyway) prying into his affairs. And I guess I don't have any actual "right" to pry, since we're not a couple.
The funny thing is, that's the only thing that changed, the title. We're not a couple, but we sleep together. I jerked off the other morning (because he wasn't really interested in doing anything, it seemed to me), and he "helped" me. But I think we're happier and more comfortable in whatever capacity we're in now than when we were an official couple.
I managed to call F yesterday. I was reluctant, and he was very nice about it all. I told him I wish I didn't have to ask for his help, but there was no other option.
This morning, I need to print out the lyrics for the C&D songs and get them ready (put chords on them?). I also still have some highlighting to do for Co., and I picked up an application at Bongo East yesterday. It's one of those philosophical applications: "If you could spend an hour speaking to anyone dead or alive, who would it be, and why?" Seriously, that's one of the questions!
8:03 pm
I'm having a bowl of borscht. Boiled eggs don't hold up well to freezing and microwaving. The soup help up better than the guylas after being frozen, and I didn't even microwave it. No, wait, that's not true. I did microwave the guylas. I took it to work two days ago and I microwaved it and I couldn't eat more than half of of it. It's still sitting in the Co. refrigerator in its little blue-lidded Tupperware.
Jesse sure did like the boiled egg. It sat Easter egg red in the confetti of redded {sic} vegetables, carrots and onions and potatoes, from the matching shreds of beet. Boiled eggs are so beautiful just out of their shell, glistening like little alien pods. They are as delicate as they look. They are easily banged up in the freezer. The vegetables {sic - probably should be "yolks"} must get much harder than the whites can, and they press little pockmarks in the skin of the boiled whites. I bit off the end of the egg and the yolk had turned to mush and burst into my mouth. It's not nearly as pleasing as, say, a ripe strawberry bursting on contact with your teeth.
The toast makes up for the missing egg. Great Harvest, Nine Grain flavor, my favorite. I put some butter on it, just to put the icing on the cake. I notice {Jesse} hawkeyeing me now. It's like she thinks she has an "in" to my generosity now. I sit as the small chunks of butter are heating up and getting spreadable on the steaming toast. I lay it on the stone counter and a cloud of perspiration forms around it on the black stone. This counter top is always cold; I have to wear mittens when I'm writing at the island or else my pinkie finger gets numb.
I shoo Jesse away. Bayne heard something with his old ears when Jesse was chomping on the ruined egg. Now he's worked up a hunger, and since it's such an effort for him to get up on all four legs anymore, he hobbles over to the dog bowls and munches out of the full one. Jesse stands beside him looking pitiful, her head hanging over the empty bowl. Bayne tries to turn from the food bowl to the water bowl without shifting his weight off of his front legs. His back legs totter, like they're bouncing lightly in reduced gravity. Jesse moves in to finish what's left in the bowl. Bayne hobbles off; his over-developed shoulders exaggerated by his shrunken back end.
I wish R would show up right now, at 8 o'clock, like he did last night. And I wish he'd show up wanting to go out. But neither of those things is likely, since he shipped out early last night, and since he went out till 2:30 a.m. the night before.
I guess I'll eat the remaining jelly donut, make some tofu egg salad (for lunches) and highlight.
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