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Five points to whoever can tell me where the subject's been snipped from.
So, let me tell you about today. Today's is a tale of tragedy, of near-disaster, and of slight intoxication.
I'll start with the tragedy. This morning, after shambling out of my bedroom and finding coffee, I noticed the towering mass of recyclable goods waiting to go outside. As the first of the caffeine found its way into my blood, I decided something Had To Be Done.
So, I took up a laundry basket1 and somehow collapsed the Recyclable Empire into something that'd fit inside it. Thus prepared, I set off for the door-
-then stopped and thought for a moment, considering the 'about to go outside' aspect of my plan. Carefully putting the laundry basket on the floor so as not to dislodge the contents and thus have them eject at high speed, I scampered off to my bedroom again. My aim? To supplement my sleepwear2 with a robe that seems to dissuade puppy paws and noses from their usual interest in me.
Thus attired, I took up the basket once again and made for the yellow-lidded outpost of recycling. Holding the basket one-handed, balanced upon my hip, I reached out to open the lid of the recycle bin, to be greeted by a large spider possibly sounding a charge. The next thing I remember is being inside again - after all, I know we've got the world's deadliest spiders, I don't like spiders at the best of times, and I've got the entomological knowledge of a blueberry muffin. In other words, it's easier to run away and return with backup.
Backup wasn't available, so I put the basket on the floor again and went searching for pants and slippers, because spiders are marginally less scary when you're not half dressed3. I again took up the basket, went back outside, and advanced carefully upon the bin, slippered feet moving silently across the pavers, body tensed to run away at the slightest provocation. And then, peeking out forlornly from under the edge of the bin lid was half a spider4. So, I deposited a vast inventory of recyclable goods into the bin and scampered off back inside. The spider will likely stay there until the bin is turned upside-down by the town garbologists next week, because, well, spider, and you never know when it might come back as a zombie spider on a quest for vengeance.
From there, we move to near-disaster, and a much shorter incident. While I tried to make myself some lunch, I went to my cupboard in search of my faithful bottle of italian herbs. The search ended quickly - it was right were I left it.
And then that's where the fun started.
It slipped. I caught it, fumbled it, and it fell again. I almost caught it; it bounced from my hand, and then I again failed to catch it. It flew briefly, then took to a brief gravity-assisted exploration of my chest (like, say, a collapsing drunk lover). I almost caught it once again; it bounced free, bounced again off my hip, and landed right-way-up in its original place on the shelf.
Lastly, mild intoxication. Not being a winemaker, the phrase 'wine glut' makes me incredibly happy. It means that good wine can be wondrously cheap - I live in a world where drinkable wine can be had for $5 without significant effort. And there are moments - like now - where you have a nice, cheap bottle of good wine, and you just feel the need to share how this helps make the world a happy place.
And that's about it for the moment.
So, let me tell you about today. Today's is a tale of tragedy, of near-disaster, and of slight intoxication.
I'll start with the tragedy. This morning, after shambling out of my bedroom and finding coffee, I noticed the towering mass of recyclable goods waiting to go outside. As the first of the caffeine found its way into my blood, I decided something Had To Be Done.
So, I took up a laundry basket1 and somehow collapsed the Recyclable Empire into something that'd fit inside it. Thus prepared, I set off for the door-
-then stopped and thought for a moment, considering the 'about to go outside' aspect of my plan. Carefully putting the laundry basket on the floor so as not to dislodge the contents and thus have them eject at high speed, I scampered off to my bedroom again. My aim? To supplement my sleepwear2 with a robe that seems to dissuade puppy paws and noses from their usual interest in me.
Thus attired, I took up the basket once again and made for the yellow-lidded outpost of recycling. Holding the basket one-handed, balanced upon my hip, I reached out to open the lid of the recycle bin, to be greeted by a large spider possibly sounding a charge. The next thing I remember is being inside again - after all, I know we've got the world's deadliest spiders, I don't like spiders at the best of times, and I've got the entomological knowledge of a blueberry muffin. In other words, it's easier to run away and return with backup.
Backup wasn't available, so I put the basket on the floor again and went searching for pants and slippers, because spiders are marginally less scary when you're not half dressed3. I again took up the basket, went back outside, and advanced carefully upon the bin, slippered feet moving silently across the pavers, body tensed to run away at the slightest provocation. And then, peeking out forlornly from under the edge of the bin lid was half a spider4. So, I deposited a vast inventory of recyclable goods into the bin and scampered off back inside. The spider will likely stay there until the bin is turned upside-down by the town garbologists next week, because, well, spider, and you never know when it might come back as a zombie spider on a quest for vengeance.
From there, we move to near-disaster, and a much shorter incident. While I tried to make myself some lunch, I went to my cupboard in search of my faithful bottle of italian herbs. The search ended quickly - it was right were I left it.
And then that's where the fun started.
It slipped. I caught it, fumbled it, and it fell again. I almost caught it; it bounced from my hand, and then I again failed to catch it. It flew briefly, then took to a brief gravity-assisted exploration of my chest (like, say, a collapsing drunk lover). I almost caught it once again; it bounced free, bounced again off my hip, and landed right-way-up in its original place on the shelf.
Lastly, mild intoxication. Not being a winemaker, the phrase 'wine glut' makes me incredibly happy. It means that good wine can be wondrously cheap - I live in a world where drinkable wine can be had for $5 without significant effort. And there are moments - like now - where you have a nice, cheap bottle of good wine, and you just feel the need to share how this helps make the world a happy place.
And that's about it for the moment.
- Not the famous one; this was a plastic one suitable for the moving about of just-washed items
- Which, this morning, meant a t-shirt and comfy underwear. Because you wanted to know that.
- Of course, spiders are scariest when naked. There's documentary evidence of this in previous entries, and possibly in the head-shaped dent in the ceiling above my shower.
- For completeness, I should point out that I expected either half could have, at any moment, wrapped itself in ninja garb and attacked.
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no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 10:29 am (UTC)Spray mace: A can of a pressurized gas that rather hurts.
Indeed. Greenpeace should take steps to personally prevent all future fly swallowings.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-01 10:32 am (UTC)