Sliced eel in a roasted garlic and ginger sauce and fished cooked in whole banana leaves with coriander stuffing, and beef with gingery bamboo and watercress... Sticky rice and chinese beer and talk of crazy things we did in our youth, just me and Martine (who in a few weeks will be precisely twice my age and she's loving it) and Eric the Red who halfway through his beer giggled and burst out that I was a pleasure to work with and then went right back to picking gingerly at a piece of ginger. (a pun which I attempted to explain but couldn't quite manage to)
Alright, alright, the beer buzz is wearing off. All the more reason to replace it with coffee buzz.
(Sometimes while wearing my own heart out on my own damned sleeve I bump into sharp doorways and leave bright sticky red marks of passage.)
Yesterday I won my first Star Wars card game. I had more fun playing the game I lost, though.
Yesterday I tried to explain the concept of a paradigm to a boy who could tattoo the phrase "well I consider myself open-minded but I think that's disgusting" tattooed on his forehead, were he not so terrified of "those kind of people", y'know, the kind with tattoos.
I would have pulled off my sweater in his car to show him the stark black lines that swallow my shoulder from mid-arm, curling over my clavicle and fighting their way down my back.
He was having a hard enough time not driving into those clever little cement posts that delimit the bicycle path.
He's two months my junior and yet he believes things that I learned wrong the hard way and I have no way of looking into his wide grey eyes, part innocence part dangerous insistence and telling him that his beliefs are carboard walls that he's boxed himself in with.
For some reason everyone has caught the urge to clean off their desks today.
I think I'll buy a stereo tonight.
The lightbulb in my hallogen lamp fizzled out this morning.
I learned the lesson of what happens when I meet my deadlines.
More deadlines.
And yet the alternative is failure.
How do you strike a balance there? This smells of politicking and I don't want to play that game.
I read a book, Steven, about a rock star/law student that got sucked into a parallel universe where animals walked and talked and dressed like humans and he could spin magic with his electric guitar... Singing terrible 70s rock songs and using their meanings to weave backfiring wonders.
It's a series, apparently... But I've already forgotten the name.
I found book three in the basement of that bookstore. I will carry it back with me...
Add this to your list of things that will get your french boss' attention:
"You enjoy fucking with my pulse rate, don't you?"
*insert maniacal been in my office too long laughter here*