January 23, 2003
Bacon and Abs
Mike is cooking something. I am in the Command Center, and the smells of what I am thinking must be bacon are drifting in and accosting me.
The 19" monitor came this morning when we both were still half asleep. Mike claims, laughing and trying to get a rise out of me, that he can watch really good porn, now, with almost lifesize breasts. What a lucky guy.
Sometimes I can't be happier than when I wake up and he gives me a squinty eyed morning smile and we kiss, lightly, because Crest has yet to grace our mouths.
And then it does, and then others do...
I think I dreamt that I was a secret agent. But secret of what? And what secrets?
This fine individual has me listed in their favorites, and with a quote from Tennyson's Lady of Shalott, no less. I am delighted. Perhaps I shall go weave a tapestry in my tower, now?
See, I may be the modern parallel of she, however. Are not my writings my true dealings with the outside world? Would I rather not be holed up, alone, day dreaming?
Sometimes.
For now, I think I am going to go imbibe some cranberry apple juice and prod my boyfriend. He isn't wearing a shirt, you see, and makes an absolutely irresistable target for my torment.
astera at 12:46 p.m.