At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Thursday, June 26, 2014

AN UMBRELLA IN THE MIND

Tomorrow I shall soak a long time in hot soapy water. As I did on Monday and Tuesday. When not required to work, a warm bath in the peace and quiet of a weekday morning is probably the perfect way to start the day. Clean, warm, caffeinated. It's very civilized.
Can't do that four days a week, when I barrel out of the house like a dizzy rocket in order not to miss the bus to Marin.

Nor could I do that if I had a normal schedule, with Saturday and Sunday off. My apartment mate might need to use the bathroom, or wish herself to do what I plan to do. She too likes a long soak.

Privacy is the key in this arrangement. I get to waltz around the apartment buck-naked on my days off, I'm not around during those times when she's swanning about in the nude.

We are otters with our own separate schedules.

Rather a pity, but highly visible nekkid ain't part of the programme.

A deliciously "brisk" beverage, however, is.

Must have a warm cup.

During.


Hot soapy water between the toes, bird sounds from the backyards behind the building, and other than that, complete quiet.

I revel in cleanliness.

And tea.


Yes, I like this arrangement. Over the past few years I've become a more solitary creature, and do a lot of things by myself that in the past seemed to require another person.


If I wish to pretend to be mister Badger puttering about in his digs, I can do that. Other than that the apartment must absolutely air out for a few hours before she returns in the evening, there are few if any limitations.
Open the windows, sneck the apartment mate's door firmly, and fill up the pipe; there's no one around to object to tobacco.
A bowl of brown flake, reference books, anthropology, South-East Asian studies or Medieaval history, dictionaries, cook books.

Curry or noodles around mid-day.

Read, write, and smoke.

Drink tea.


She's a good apartment mate; we respect each other's personality and have adapted to our different facets of Asperger syndrome. She uses the phone socially at times, which I find somewhat pointless, I occasionally need other people anonymously around me, which doesn't do much if anything for her.

We do not pry into each other's lives. I have no idea what her relationship with her boyfriend is like, she hasn't a clue that I am fixated on snackipoos at tea-time.

[The tea-time thing is an aspect of the anonymous other people thing. There are a few places I seldom go to nowadays because the anonymity was cracked. It's not that I can't handle that, but I'm a bit peculiar about it. I would not at all mind it if someone asked to join me for tea before I head off, but when I'm already by myself I prefer to observe other people around me, rather than being forced to interact.]

So set am I about tea-time that during the rainy season a few months ago I still headed over to C'town for pastries and a warm cuppa. I just found a nice quiet sheltered area afterward to smoke my pipe and watch the world go by from a discreet distance.


She retires to her room early. I'll frequently take a long walk around the neighborhood late at night with my pipe, enjoying the last smoke of the day while dreaming. All things are dream-worthy.
She tells me she doesn't dream.
I find that odd.


Habits and routines may change.
Sometimes gradually, sometimes spur of the moment.
Interests often remain constant.

Tea time is at or shortly after four P.M.
That is very important.
Essential.







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