I have figured out that these terrible dizzy spells & nausea are not some horrible brain tumor but rather an intolerance to coffee. Damn. I had hoped that if I put enough milk in it I would be able to drink the lovely stuff but my body disagrees. My body is very cranky about comestibles & such. I used to be able to have anything. No more. Perhaps this is what Sartre meant when he described experiencing the body as an obstacle. I think he was talking about climbing mountains, but whatever. I am talking about drinking coffee. Maybe I'll just sniff the can of coffee beans in the morning and pretend that's quite as nice. It isn't.
So, tomorrow I'll have tea.
Despite feeling miserable today, I slogged through my list of phone calls (ugh. ugh. ugh.) and made a semi-traditional St. Patrick's Day dinner. Well, there was potato salad, anyway. I like potato salad! This one was dead simple: fingerling potatoes (still warm) dressed with lemon, olive oil, fresh thyme, sea salt & pepper. Very nice. I drank Belgian beer. Irish beer is too dark & heavy for me.
I need to start thinking about artwork for the Freud issue of blossombones. I hope I can find something that works. Perhaps an obelisk? Heh. I get a little silly when I talk about Freud, yo.
I should not have given M my password for the netflix queue. Now netflix thinks I like action movies with bad dialogue & lowbrow comedies. I'm gonna go watch like, half a dozen brainy documentaries so the folks at netflix start profiling me as a lover of all things "cerebral." I care very deeply about my electronic profile, 'kay? How am I supposed to appear cerebral when the man orders ConAir and Year One? Shit.
Susan Slaviero lives on the cusp of a hellmouth, where she vanquishes evil with poetry and cupcakes. She hopes to someday land a job as either a dog whisperer or a telephone psychic. In the meantime, she writes. She has a fondness for esoterica.