Rain today, rain tomorrow. Most it means to me is I wear boots instead of sandles, and I actually use the umbrella I so stubbornly carry everywhere, shain or rine.
Today I splurge on a nice sandwich. I also tried my once-trusted breakfast routine but I think I’m done with the cheese omelette and sausage patty from Jubilee on John Street. Something about it just doesn’t taste good any more, or rather it doesn’t feel good. I feel some sense of melancholy over this trivial matter because the dude behind the counter at Jubilee always remembers my order, even after I haven’t been there for three weeks. He always remembers me. Is it not something, being remembered?
Breakfast has changed from omelette and sausage to strawberries and water. Lots of water. Strawberries are cheap and the water is free. Free water. Who would have predicted free water would be a perk of employment?
I think 1.5mg of Lorazapam today but might need to up it to full 2mg. Depends how I feel. Trying to forget but unable to erase memory of a certain encounter that happened on Friday. Left me shaking for 2 days. Can’t talk about it, though. Any detail gives away too much.
I could, conceivably, eat these strawberries with a fork, or other utensil. But I have to manually rip the leaves off each one, because I don’t like the texture of the leaves. They make me poop quickly. I just start to ask if the people I share these morning silences with critique my table manners and sartorial appointments. People have to talk about something.
Today’s morning peeve involves this fucking phone. As with the previous Galaxy S9+ I am again confronted with the “moisture on your charging port” message that never went away on the previous phone and will probably never go away on this one either. It means I can only charge wirelessly, which takes a lot longer than wired. I took the last phone into the store but no one there knew what I was talking about, suggesting simply that I get the moisture off the charging port. Brilliant suggestion.
I did not shave today, as I should have. Every other day is the routine. I’ve been doing pre-bedtime showers, running the video camera for documentary purposes. Someday the Library of Congress or other august chronicler of all things America will find my trove of hours and hours of video from the shower. Action shots of me waashing my hair, shaving, masturbating, scrub-a-dub-dubbing my entire body including the parts most men are said not to wash: Ears, toes, legs, and I forget the others. I wash it all.
These strawberries feel aggressive today. On top of the omelette and sausage they don’t feel the same as without the omelette and sausage. I do not like eating, or food. Eating is a chore performed not for sensual or earthly delight but for the pedantic purpose of staying alive. Sometimes I don’t even know why that is a priority. These strawberries are aggressive and too plentiful. I knew this container was more stuffed than the others on the shelf. But I took it anyway. It’s a rain day, after all.
