Friday, January 4, 2013

The Twelve Days of a Guy Friend Christmas: Day 10

Tag: Bought this for $3 in Boston. A gem. "Be a genuine samurai."

As much as I wish I had command of the martial and Eastern arts and defense, the only samurai characteristic I hold is my infamous roundhouse kick to anyone's ass crack (I have great aim, by the way). I'll have to delve into it after I finish Pete Townshend's autobiography. With half the courseload this semester, which starts Monday (nerves!) I figure I'll have more time to leisure read.

Pretty cool if I say so myself.

This is a work of fiction, and while I don't feel like much of a warrior lately, obviously there's something about this book that Guy thought I'd find enchanting, and he knows I'm a pretty discriminate reader in my spare time (and a massive critic)., I still haven't heard from him. My soul's in total flux.

Luke said, yesterday afternoon, that he'd grown tired of my Facebook cover shot of Yoko Ono with the "War is Over" logo behind her. He's all "You've had that up for months! Can't you change it?" Why yes, Luke, I can. I changed to a picture of someone, in such a pose, for whom I would renounce my pursuit of any other man on earth...if it were a) 1965 and b) he wasn't dead.

George Harrison on a couch with a bottle of champagne? As the samurai would say, "Sayonara, fellas!"

Damn psychotropic drugs. I love waking up to conversations in text or in print that I don't remember having the night before. Evidently last night, I had a toothache over which Steven said to chew an aspirin where it hurts, I perilously tried to converse with SuperJuls, who gave up on me, and I bought a bra. I did *not,* however, remember that my mom wanted to to clean the Luke scum out of the bathtub late last night, over which she's none too pleased this morning. Having just woken up, I'm kinda "Twenty Shades of Not Giving a Shit" & wasn't given the opportunity to clean it myself just now, which in all likelihood, I wouldn't clean to her rigid specifications in the first place. 

It's why I can't remember everything Guy was scolding me about Sunday night, my memory scant other than snippets, which he hasn't responded to explaining further. Generally, anything that enters my brain after 10pm, if I've taken my meds at 8:00ish, is bound to be totally forgotten or vaguely recalled the next day, which sucks. As much as I totally recall in hindsight last night was that my weaker Rx eyeglasses made things on my phone and computer slightly *less* blurry and that, at the rate I'm going, I'll be totally blind by the time I'm 45. Kate can't believe I've vainly held back from bifocals for as long as I have.  Ah hell. 

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