It was raining very hard. The city I lived in with my friends was flooding fast. I watched a truck try to make it over a flooded road: The road had somehow become a river, and the truck overturned.
I was carrying the baby, running to make it to higher ground, all the while worrying, Is her diaper wet? Is she hungry? My thought had been that ElaraJo—the baby—was retarded somehow, but all of a sudden, she began prattling to me in complete sentences, and I thought, Whoa! She’s only six months old, so actually she must be quite bright! And I began to feel some stirrings of affection…
The rain was even harder yesterday, and I didn’t feel like doing anything, so I holed up in the Patrizia-torium and attempted to distract myself by watching Lovecraft Country. Lovecraft Country is pretty fucking awful, so that did not go well.
Anton was doing a food photography project, so from time to time, I wandered out into the common areas to snap revealing pix:
He made oxtail stew. The dish photographed well due to the star shape of the oxtail bones, and it was very tasty when he invited us to sit down and eat it, but I can’t say I would ever be moved to attempt it myself.
When it finally stopped raining, I forced myself to go on a tromp. Because… Exercise!!!
I recognize this affectless state, of course I do: It is my Winter Self.
I never want to do anything at all in winter, and of course, this year winter is gonna be even worse.
I’m in danger of making It is what it is into my new mantra.
Meanwhile, I’ve added shingles vaccine and haircut on to my To Do list. I am of that last generation that actually had chickenpox rather than a vaccination, and apparently varicella just lurks inside you, waiting for a moment to knock you down (as a pal of mine just found out.) Plus my hair has entered that weedy, hideous stage, and I’m expecting that hair salons will be forced to close in another few weeks or so. Crossposted from Dreamwidth.