Blind, battered, and boozy
I had Friday off and, despite the drizzle, was fantastically productive. I got laundry done, finally bought some non-work clothes for myself, bought a few books, and picked up some things for the house. Then LG came along, we trekked down Polk, had lunchies, and then it kicked in: the agonizing pain.
I’d added more weight on with my Thursday workout, and apparently there’s a 24 hour lag time before the pain kicks in as your muscles try to repair themselves.
As it was, it lasted all throughout the weekend with me groaning and moaning in surefire pain. Not fun. But I did manage to get my desk cleaned up, tossed my old broken DJ decks (*sigh*), and set up my iMac. Couldn’t find the power cord, but at least I got the hard part over.
I desperately need a new prescription for my contacts. It’s like rain on a windowpane that’s never completely cleared off.
Every so often, I’ll encounter some gross-as-fuck straight guy who seems to think I want to get into his pants. Once, in the bathroom at Old Navy, this grody ghetto black guy actually went so far as to put his back to the divider between the urinals as if I’d try to sneak a peak. Such a display of prim defense at my very presence then pushes the idea into my head that they think I want a gander at their junk, and have an interest in getting down and dirty with them. This then invites a wave of nausea and vomitous stirrings in my stomach, as no such vile act had ever begun to cross my mind. Where do such gross people get such wild imaginations? Foul, foul, foul.
