A DROUGHT, YOU SAY?

First smoke of the day at around seven o'clock. Umbrella. Drizzle. Presently it's still gloomy outside. Phone call to Chinese Hospital Pharmacy for refills, will probably pick them up after visiting my bank but before lunch. The temperature is around sixty degrees, and it is to be expected that people will be grumpy and "under the weather", so to speak.

For some strange reason there is herring salad in the refrigerator.
Several years ago my apartment mate and I went to Holland.
Ever since then she's been in love with herring.

Women need passion in their lives.
She, fortunately, has fish.


In lieu of "passion", I have food (though a thinnish man), as well as pipes and tobacco (and the occasional cough because of them). Plus pottery and procelain objets d'art, and far too many books.

I am not a passionate man. I wouldn't describe myself as a calmly rational sort either -- I am not a dried-up stick insect -- but there has been a drought in the passion department for over a decade, and I am not actively searching for rain storms there.
It's more a passive-aggressive thing.


In some ways, a woman should be like a cat. One who likes to read, purrs occasionally, and does not object to the aromas of pipe tobacco. And truly likes a bit of food.
No mad dance parties, nightclubs and noise, or shopping malls.
Fierce, and independent-minded.



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