April 23, 2003
Sugar High
Impromptu sex, while favored by most, can be a dangerous activity. Thus, I maintain a (mostly) firm routine of pre-coittal bathroom visits, removal of all jewelry and/or watches, repositioning of burning candles to a safe distance from the bed, Radiohead turned considerably louder than usual, and tissues. Lots of tissues. The repercussions of fly-by-night sex are many and frightening.
For instance, where the hell is my earring? Supposing he choked on it? Now that would certainly kill the mood considerably more than just pausing to remove them beforehand, now, wouldn't it?
I liked that earring.
I mean, there was only one. It's not as though I have the latter half of the pair to console me the loss of the former.
I look like an absolute hag today, due to the almost necessary jaunt to Hebron yesterday. One day without him wasn't so bad at all, I had hours of unadulterated special time with my computer.
It was the night that nearly killed me. After watching the first half of Ringu I laid in bed for over an hour, alternately thinking of situations wherein I could be seduced/seducing and wondering if I was going to die because I watched the video via another video.
It was late, okay? And I have the mental capacity of a sugar high seven year old.
Six hours of work await me, post frantic ironing of uniform and dashing away from dorm. I shall tote along my notebook, and my journal, and several books, and it might only feel like five. Don't get me wrong. I'm waving both arms in the air and biting my tongue when it comes to volunteers to be grateful to have a job, but still. It's The Booth. And Soccer Moms.
You'd want to beat yourself in the face with a park guide book, too, so there.
Class beckons. Or something of that nature.
astera at 8:37 a.m.