A series of events
Jun. 14th, 2010 12:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mellotron_breakfastWhile this may look at the outset like another list of mundane events, certain things made this Kensington visit different than the other one.
The days were about the same for long stretches. I would walk here and there, maybe pick up a pastry to eat; head back hours in advance of wanting to be anywhere, and nap until the three cats wouldn't let me.
Hey there Spooky
The new cat was the one to climb on top of me this time. I had to set clear boundaries, because you know how it goes. First they're licking your hair, and before you know, it, they're trying to steal the next base, and the one after. They're the Tampa Bay Rays of the pet world.
Disgusting baseball
I don't know why I would bring up baseball. What an atrocious weekend. Being the first team to score more than one run against Ubaldo Jimenez in many many games is cold comfort when you get swept.
Friday I met Pam and some others. It got nice and busy at the club but my knee is no good, so I had to settle for drinking one bourbon, one scotch and three beers, then tottering back to safety. To be fair, the first beer, though a pint, predated all other things by a few hours.
A little dab'll do ya
The next day, I decided to cut my hair so I would look less like a hippie at the American border. In fact, I found The Crow's Nest, which has only been open one week and where repair men are still trying to figure out how many vacuum tubes the old jukebox requires to function. You go in and the man offers you a Coke or a Pabst Blue Ribbon, free with the $25 haircut. He likes to do one style really well, down to the straight razor shave (sadly, only the back of my neck, sideburns and temples, he wasn't ready to try my face) and some sort of hair product in a tall white bottle made to look like it was from the 1920s.
It was neat. A few hours of walking later, the longer side of the part was starting to curl down like Superman's do. I would put it between Clark Kent and Elvis, except my hair isn't that dark. I had a shower, so it's gone now. It's probably similar to what my Anglo-Canadian grandfather did with his hair from just after his time in the Royal Canadian Navy until the day he died; a "man's" haircut. The difference is he let his get longer and unkempt, and he had those distinguished Reed Richards silver streaks until radiation therapy depleted him.
The Haunting
I needed the cats out of the room for a good sleep on Saturday. I was already in the company of demons dating back to UseNet, things which continue to bother me to this day. The felines have what they need in the other room, and I'd say Samosa enjoyed a good long time napping on top of my bag given how cooked-warm the contents were. Something about the woven plastic surface of a Roots bag with lumpy objects stored inside must be comfortable.
I had dreams where the resident was coming home, or the alarm was going off, and a third arm resembling one of my own had extended from beside the bed to hold me down. I was anemic and could only twitch my feet, hands, or head, maybe sit up briefly, not actually force myself to stay up. When the alarm, a simple cell phone, actually did sound then I woke up for real and stayed that way.
Gluten-free breakfast
The Kensington Cornerstone is great. You might imagine that "gluten-free menu" would make all the food completely joyless, the same instinct you might feel toward other dietary restrictions, but this is false. I would eat there again, though out of fairness I should pay The Grilled Cheese a visit first to balance my patronage across many places that I hope will last.
While I was getting cash out of my wallet to pay the bill, I noticed an unhealthy looking man talking to himself, staring at me mischievously, and petting the flowers in planters at the edge of the Cornerstone's patio. I didn't need that creep following me around or looking to steal my wallet, so I abruptly stood up, put my wallet away (conveniently, I already removed from it what I needed) and looked at him the same way I look at people who ask me what's wrong.
He backed off to the other side of the street, his crazy smile turned to worry, and disappeared around a corner. I didn't see him again.
Concern
I've been off coffee for what's officially a week and a day, now, to alleviate some unhealthy feeling in my innards which peaked when I was pounding back double espresso capuccinos four or five days per week.
It's actually not too different from how beer makes me feel when I drink it too fast.
[Edit: Will elaborate further next post.]
The days were about the same for long stretches. I would walk here and there, maybe pick up a pastry to eat; head back hours in advance of wanting to be anywhere, and nap until the three cats wouldn't let me.
Hey there Spooky
The new cat was the one to climb on top of me this time. I had to set clear boundaries, because you know how it goes. First they're licking your hair, and before you know, it, they're trying to steal the next base, and the one after. They're the Tampa Bay Rays of the pet world.
Disgusting baseball
I don't know why I would bring up baseball. What an atrocious weekend. Being the first team to score more than one run against Ubaldo Jimenez in many many games is cold comfort when you get swept.
Friday I met Pam and some others. It got nice and busy at the club but my knee is no good, so I had to settle for drinking one bourbon, one scotch and three beers, then tottering back to safety. To be fair, the first beer, though a pint, predated all other things by a few hours.
A little dab'll do ya
The next day, I decided to cut my hair so I would look less like a hippie at the American border. In fact, I found The Crow's Nest, which has only been open one week and where repair men are still trying to figure out how many vacuum tubes the old jukebox requires to function. You go in and the man offers you a Coke or a Pabst Blue Ribbon, free with the $25 haircut. He likes to do one style really well, down to the straight razor shave (sadly, only the back of my neck, sideburns and temples, he wasn't ready to try my face) and some sort of hair product in a tall white bottle made to look like it was from the 1920s.
It was neat. A few hours of walking later, the longer side of the part was starting to curl down like Superman's do. I would put it between Clark Kent and Elvis, except my hair isn't that dark. I had a shower, so it's gone now. It's probably similar to what my Anglo-Canadian grandfather did with his hair from just after his time in the Royal Canadian Navy until the day he died; a "man's" haircut. The difference is he let his get longer and unkempt, and he had those distinguished Reed Richards silver streaks until radiation therapy depleted him.
The Haunting
I needed the cats out of the room for a good sleep on Saturday. I was already in the company of demons dating back to UseNet, things which continue to bother me to this day. The felines have what they need in the other room, and I'd say Samosa enjoyed a good long time napping on top of my bag given how cooked-warm the contents were. Something about the woven plastic surface of a Roots bag with lumpy objects stored inside must be comfortable.
I had dreams where the resident was coming home, or the alarm was going off, and a third arm resembling one of my own had extended from beside the bed to hold me down. I was anemic and could only twitch my feet, hands, or head, maybe sit up briefly, not actually force myself to stay up. When the alarm, a simple cell phone, actually did sound then I woke up for real and stayed that way.
Gluten-free breakfast
The Kensington Cornerstone is great. You might imagine that "gluten-free menu" would make all the food completely joyless, the same instinct you might feel toward other dietary restrictions, but this is false. I would eat there again, though out of fairness I should pay The Grilled Cheese a visit first to balance my patronage across many places that I hope will last.
While I was getting cash out of my wallet to pay the bill, I noticed an unhealthy looking man talking to himself, staring at me mischievously, and petting the flowers in planters at the edge of the Cornerstone's patio. I didn't need that creep following me around or looking to steal my wallet, so I abruptly stood up, put my wallet away (conveniently, I already removed from it what I needed) and looked at him the same way I look at people who ask me what's wrong.
He backed off to the other side of the street, his crazy smile turned to worry, and disappeared around a corner. I didn't see him again.
Concern
I've been off coffee for what's officially a week and a day, now, to alleviate some unhealthy feeling in my innards which peaked when I was pounding back double espresso capuccinos four or five days per week.
It's actually not too different from how beer makes me feel when I drink it too fast.
[Edit: Will elaborate further next post.]
