I woke up feeling lousy. I had at least two sneezing fits before I left for work, during which time I thought reminiscently about the summer when my head wasn't so thick and my breathing was unobstucted. Another day with the cold, but I'm feeling better. After work, I hit the yoga mat to the sounds of Lisa Gerrard and, despite some congestion, I had an abundance of energy and was absorbed in the session. Afterward, I made a salad with kale and baby spinach and other assorted goodies, including some extra-extra firm tofu I got at Trader Joe's, which has ruined me for all other less firm tofu. I'm not going to lie to you: I don't feel as fresh as a summer fig, but I'm on the mend.
I'll tell you what: I'm never again going to take dating advice from Willem Dafoe. Alright, I will, but I'm going to be a bit more wary when I do. I almost got slapped in the nuts trying out the following on an unsuspecting fraulein:
I must be feeling better because my loins were humming all day. Ah, but nothing came of it (there's a pun there, but I'd never stoop so low as to suggest it); still, though, the loins hum. Maybe it's time to explore Craig's List and its casual encounters section. I'm sure it would be a fruitful endeavor. I might even meet my future wife.
I'm tired, but I have things I'd like to do before I surrender to the mattress. Craig will be stopping by and I'd like to spend some quality time with Moby Dick. And, if time permits, I'd like to work on some music. Maybe try to restore my sickness- ravaged voice back to its former glory.
Adieu, my bonnie lads and lasses.
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