Make a powerhouse sandwich for dinner, outta all the stuff I got for to make 'em for lunch that's now probably bordering on spoiled? The portabella tops are surely iffy. Order a pizza, powerhouse stuff be damned? I did look at the sprouts this morning. They haven't rotted.
Apart from staying up late, it's not the physical that's been exhausting so much as the mental, emotional, spiritual, philosophical. The introspective. That's in there. I think I'm in a pretty good space at the moment. Tonight.
I may have a stalker. I hope not. I hope that one's just eager to interact.
Right now I'm so not about meeting somebody's needs.
Somebody (else)'s gonna be doing a Julia Child impression for me soon. (Not Meryl Streep.) (But that reminds me I had been thinking of going to see that movie tonight, in preparation. Arghhh... just so tired. Plus my weather monitor workmate clued me there's a heatwave a-comin', so that's good moviegoing time, pending.)
Grief and letting go. What is mourning? Besides something that becomes Electra? Is mourning to grief as suffering is to pain?
Those sorts of analogies suck on multiple levels. So I withdraw the question. I was just thinking of "pain is inevitable; suffering is optional."
Aphorism. Koan. Objet d'meditation.
Hungry. Saggy sleepy face. Lose the bra: now that's my friend the brain.
Maybe the guitar. Maybe I'll pick up the guitar tonight. Me and the unfettered melons.
What is it, Manny baby? What'sa matter, Manfred Mann the Manly Manifesto? (Okay, I am about meeting somebody's needs. Just a little.)