. . . He felt as though he were riding the pornographic crest of a carnal tsunami, but always with the hope of something more, infusing, he could almost feel, the sheen of sweet that glistened their bodies – with a hope for spiritual healing . . .
Wake, mood subdued, to the sound of steadily falling rain … perfect weather, in a way, for a closed-in writing day …
Hanging out with my MacBook Air and the nascent file for my new work-in-progress on the 7th floor veranda of the Shin Marunouchi Building … cool weather, completely decent table for writing (I can even position my Air on top of the flat-topped light fixture in the center of the table to get my screen a bit closer to the horizontal alignment of eyes and screen my chiropractor says is ideal), everything fine except for the blasted combination of smooth jazz and smooth hip-hop pouring out of the outside speakers.
Memo: Next time bring earphones!
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… toilet tank filling after a piss … standing before my desk after working at my writing — the content for this site mostly — most of the day, except for a midday walk in the park, meals, toilet breaks, and a few naps, mostly after eating, when, I suppose, my blood sugar spiked enough to make me drowsy … Meetup parties I might like to attend too expensive for my just-scraping-by budget (reasonable perhaps for all-you-can-drink, but my limit is usually one glass of wine or bottle of beer and even that sometimes unfinished and besides I just plan don’t have the money) … a woman I might like to be with recently not available (will she ever be?) … lonely, and the best I can do for it right now is this walk I’m taking, post I’m writing …
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Water’s dripping once again from my ceiling as I write; what with all the rain we’ve had lately, the ceiling gets easily waterlogged, it seems; what with the leak in the roof that the handyman still hasn’t, evidently, managed to completely repair. Will the ceiling – or the area where it’s dripping anyway – cave in completely? Checking, I hesitate to press against it too hard; still sense a heaviness to the ceiling material when I do. The landlord has promised to make complete and thorough repairs once we start getting consistent rays, which I hope will come with early October, but until then, the situation, safety-wise (and equipment- and writing-wise as well, as my desk and computer are within a meter or so of the dripping), will continue to feel dicey.
I make a mental note not to sleep, as I normally do, with the my head near the drip – to reverse my position. Better my feet get the brunt of falling ceiling fragments than my head.