I'm not sure where today disappeared to, or most of this weekend, even, but it feels good inside my skin and while my head seems fuzzier than the mean average fuzz quotient, I'm not overly upset.
A healthy part of this morning disappeared to working on that coloratura (not colorette, oops) or roulade, another part to that creamy lentil dahl because my beloved called home after class to check for messages and asked for it.
Another part of this morning disappeared to the world's greatest misuse of the mortar and pestle, resulting in my slicing two of my toes to ribbons because I was late in the making of the ginger paste and didn't want to go all the way to fetch the chair to get it down off the shelf and because of this morning's push-ups didn't have the energy for climbing the wall unit (and didn't want to risk toppling it either) so I stood on one of my auxiliary plastic flowerpots and it shattered right under me.
I'm still finding spots of blood from my race to rinse and bandage, I'm hoping I didn't stain anything.
Other things got done today, my insurance is absolutely insured, and I caught up on at least ten emails in my inbox, leaving behind a good twenty that I absolutely really honestly want to spend a solid hour on each of.
Yesterday was brunch with Rob and Kitty and a thousand giggles and more loins and grecian formula than any rational person should be able to handle with food, an introduction to a Caesar (the drink not the salad) and omelettes with hot spicy sausage.
Then two Canadian tires, two turtlenecks and a beer, no wait
then two canadian tires with the longest roundabout ways of getting there, Rob playing point-out-the-golfcourses and Kitty filling in on the rest of the tourist information.
A humidifier, two snow brushes, batteries and NO PLANTS (the horror! s'okay though, I took cuttings today) later we were dropping them off, and heading home.
Then we should have gone climbing.
Instead, and my still-sore-from-my-first-try-at-an-incline biceps are ever thankful, we went for a walk in snowy streets and rented a movie.
An Akira Kurosawa movie.
Akira Kurosawa's interpretation of Shakespeare's King Lear, no less, called "Ran".
Hours later, still curled albeit with several position changes, I lay between Mr. Pyke and the fleece blanket and tried to collect pieces of brian matter from where it lay around the room.
Granted, it's been a few years since I've actively read Shakespeare, partially due to the taboo (I'll admit, I lost some of my fascination with his sonnets because modern poets read them with disdain), but this is King Lear. I still quote King Lear in conversation.
The movie was spectacular, and we have to run for groceries before Evangelion, so I can't go on and on and on about it, but aside from the stunning images and mind-blowing samurai-ness of it
for hours before I fell asleep and in between various mundane dreams I marvelled
at how identical the story was when transalted into Japanese axioms as in the original medival british.
I've travelled the world some, and plan to keep going, and I've seen a thousand differences and a thousand new things and lessons
and amidst all of that, despite their different taboos and habits and morals, deep down their instincts are the same
and some of those instincts are wondrous.
Some people hug, the french do bises, other cultures refrain from touching each other, others throw punches for affection
deep down inside though, we all migrate towards the citites just to see each other smile.
Deep down inside, a joke is always funny, every language in the universe has puns, and every lover has looked upon their loved one in their sleep and bent to kiss their shoulder.
In whatever form it takes.