AND tomorrow is a day off. I enjoy my days off, because it gives me an opportunity to unwind, let my mind decompose the waste of Marin County, and putter around in my sleep garb all morning with a pipe in my mouth.
That will be somewhat problematic tomorrow.
As she has done every year for as long as I have known her, my apartment mate did the Aids Walk. In consequence of which she is taking off Monday and Tuesday.
Which coincides with the worst cramps of "that time".
Yeah, a horrible coincidence, I know.
Pooped and drained.
Period.
I don't really care about Tuesday, as I shall be in Marin all day again, before relaxing once more on Wednesday and Thursday, but that means there will be no smoking in the apartment tomorrow.
Normally, I'd firmly shut her door the moment she leaves the building, open a few windows for ventialtion, and light up.
Sometimes I relish interaction with the stuffed monkeys, who have interesting insights about tropical fruit.
Intellectually I also relish the idea that I could, on my days off, bring someone home for a bit of profound naughtiness. Except that that has not yet ever happened, and I am not seeing anyone at present, nor do I know anyone I would invite in if the opportunity arose, so it's entirely a delicious fantasy.
But in theory this remains a possibility -- hypothetically to view my pipe collection, or inspect my various objets d'art, before succumbing to my devilish allure -- and like all red-blooded males the concept delights me.
It could happen!
One of these days I might surprise myself.
If something like that ever comes up, I will be the first to know.
As it is, my plans for Monday include milk-tea, snackipoos or lunch, a zesty Virginia mixture, and at least two pipes. Conceivably also a jaunt into North Beach, hoping not to run into the crazy artistic blister who hangs around at the Trieste, as well as a visit to city Lights Bookstore.
What my apartment mate intends to do all day I do not know. I'm clueless.
But I'm guessing it involves lots of dozing while holding one of the stuffed monkeys or her teddy bear, then some trashy fiction, fried food, something bacon-flavoured, and two or three episodes of women committing mayhem and murder on cable television.
Very likely also a bag of crunchy snacks.
Greasy - salty - cheesy.
THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW IS ANOTHER DAY!
Wednesday. She'll be out of the house on Wednesday. I shall fantasize about being a naughty beast on Wednesday! Perhaps there will be a whirlwind romance, or some brilliant young lady will quite suddenly realize that yes, I am indeed the gorgeous ne'er-do-well of her dreams.
This is why she went to college; so she can conceptualize an affair.
Throw it into perspective with an educated vocabulary.
Imagine an Anna Karenina-like romance.
Without Count Karenin.
Just Vronsky.
Me.
"Dang, you old fart, it REEKS of pipe tobacco and dusty books in here! What are you, some kind of boring intellectual?!? A political agitator?!?"
Dot. Dot. Dot.
Sour old Dutchman who smells of tobacco smoke seeks dreamy college woman for romance and conversation. No long moonlight walks on the beach, no sappy music, no convoluted philosophical discussions.
A lively sense of humour is an absolute requirement.
Gentle sarcasm is perfectly okay too.
No artists, no vegetarians.
Must like milk-tea.
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