thediastema's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I'm limping. Having screwed up my left ankle rather nicely on Saturday afternoon (turning roundoffs in grass I didn't know was wet) it would have been wise to turn down Dimples's offer of a hiking excursion Wednesday evening. I didn't. The hike was gorgeous, and Jedediah was generous with his water, but naturally I was an idiot and I jarred my ankle about seven more times, and by the time we were on our way back down the mountain, Durwood had volunteered his services as a human crutch. The rest of the night progressed as you might have expected: cigarettes and dinner for the four of us; pilgrimage to a playground in the Avenues at dusk to play on swings and then lie on the grass staring up at the clouds; discussing the cloud formations, i.e., "it's a bunny with a firearm" and "I don't see it" and "No, look" and "I still don't see it" and no, I really don't see it, because I'm too focused on your heartbeat located directly under my temple, and the smell of your cigarettes, and your sweat, and your cologne, and how we're both kind of just completely not talking about it but this keeps happening, and weren't there an Indian girl and a blond guy, I forget. And then back in Jed's car with the finger-interlacing that happens nowhere near my abdomen and yet registers there and and and and and... This could get interesting. People are starting to pick up on the scent of it. Notables include my boss (perhaps not thrilled that I'm under the influence of someone she, uh, fired) and our friends (Dimples has been dropping hints that she's not, in fact, blind and deaf). Everything is suddenly weighed in terms of how it's affected by Di-and-D'wood-are-playing-around. It's pervaded everything from the Yuppie scenario to the Dinah mess to here-comes-his-birthday. It's proven my theory that I'm doomed to a long list of lust objects named after the drummers of my favourite bands. I spend half the day pacing in frustration and the other half grinning like an ass. And this is barely even Day Six of the Awakening. Durwood calls this sort of thing "beautiful overkill." ~ETK 01:55 - 12 June, 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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