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That bright idea about making outrageously productive plans when the thermometer rose past sixty exited as soon as they materialized. Obviously, fate has cast me into the jet set mode for one more day. I hadn't really expected industry to be the first thing I'd do today, either, before the second cup of coffee had hit bottom. Miss Jane set herself to bottling a batch of the hot sauce to take with us to F'bg, glowing orange scotch bonnet debris radiating from the ground zer0 of the counter. Thinking the slamming of kitchen utensils would sound better from the center of the action, I peeled on some gloves and got busy with the rest of the case. Playing with acid in my dammm undapants. Coulda seared something off. At least, selling a case of salsa to the restaurant alongside the train station would be a step in the right direction. Justification for dropping the top for another road trip. God, I'm getting addicted to this. Topless driving is the next closest thing to being on the beach. Identical: the cool bite of wind, the tempest in the hair, occasionally a face full of sand blown from the roadside. The same feeling you get when you're up on waterskis. Good time for another soul snapshot... shapely companion in the passenger seat, burn of the sun on the face, straightening curves with a panoramic view, and brazilian music on the player. One could do worse. That same music brought the exhilaration back down to reasonable levels, the whole "saudade" undercurrent reminding me that no matter how perfect the scene, it's all temporary, and just a natural swing from the mundane or the calamitous. Brings a nice twang to the spine when it's recognized, though. I think the doc is tapering Miss Jane off of the anti-depressants... a few more acidic moments than usual the past few weeks. Damn him. At least, no libido and no ranting beats no libido and snarls. I am so over attending the Blue Ball. The extended late lunch in the old train warehouse, with the doors open, and good conversations with the wait staff slowed the pace nicely, before the return trip to take care of the last weekend details. Which also involved the hour-and-a-half drill for making sticky rice for dinner. For nyquilgirl (who conjured the kick ass design of this page), that sashimi I promised you: a small palm-sized capsule of rice, one fingerprint of wasabi with a big slice of fresh variegated tuna hiding the rest. For sixweasels, a reverse-roll (rice sprinkled with sesame seeds on the outside) filled with thin strips of cucumber, a stripe of cream cheese and ribbons of tuna. Just because. Do tastebuds have memory? Let it get cold again, this week. I've got sunburn on my forehead. |
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