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.

Sunday, June 18, 2017


Imagine a small forest creature, spitting mad, jumping up and down in great distress. That which he so passionately desired cannot be, it is impossible, oh woe, all hope is dashed, life is quite utterly forlorn.
His snout quivers disconsolately.
He sneezes.

It was so disappointing! His day was ruined!

All this in addition to waves of fever, a sore throat, occasional dizziness, minor headache, and a general lassitude. which, logically, must interdict almost completely all emotional up and down jumping, and any seriously upset moaning. As well as loud lamentations. Though not rolling on the carpet and weeping, although there was none of that.
Because it's a question of dignity.

I tried to smoke a pipe at work today. One third of the bowl of Virginia flake in, and dizziness overcame me. Sure, it tasted fine -- the sore throat is not affecting my palate -- but dang it all it nearly put me on the floor.
Which, because of the dignity thing, was not an option.

Grumpy middle-aged men as well as small angry forest creatures must at all times be conscious of these things, or people will take advantage of them, and before you know it their heads will hang on a wall.

When I am sick, I do not trust the free-range cigar smokers in the lounge to not at an opportune moment hunt me down for a trophy.
Never show weakness.

Someday soon I will be over this damned sore throaty ailment. The sun will come out again (metaphorically, that is; it was well over eighty degrees in Marin today), I will sing and dance, and burrow happily in the undergrowth or the piles of crisp leaves (metaphor: more like tall stands of wild anise and dried grass on yellow hillsides), and do other great things.

I will smoke a bowl of Samuel Gawith's St. James Flake, drink cups of Hong Kong style milk tea (avoid any dairy when you have a sore throat, because it ramps up the mucus and coughing), and be happy and gay.

I will also have gulai ayam at that place in Chinatown run by Malaysian Chinese. Perhaps with a flaky roti, and, if they have it, sambal setan.

Maybe as early as sometime this week.

Delicious chicken curry.



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