I don’t smell very good right now. I showered — too long, per the standards of anyone I’ve ever lived with, as is my custom. I didn’t put on deodorant, but that’s not unusual for me; my pits have never been particularly odorous. I’ve not exercised beyond a walk to the coffee shop in rather brisk weather. And all my clothes are fresh?
The smell has a hint of what I’ve taken to thinking of as adrenaline, which I often detect after a presentation. So while I don’t recall going short of breath or getting the shakes, that must be the culprit.
It’s not totally inexplicable, I suppose. Moments out of the shower, I got a call from the delivery men who were bringing my new couch and ottoman, replacements for the other new couch and coffee table with which I have been so briefly acquainted, that are on their way back out soon with my ex, the cat, and whatever plans I thought I had for living in Rhode Island.
The delivery instructions said they would call when they were on their way, so a shower seemed safe. Which is exactly what you think before the delivery guys just show up without calling. They were patient and kind and could not have cared less when I came downstairs, I recognize, but it still sent me racing about the apartment, throwing on clothes and trying to comb the knots out of my hair and shoving the cat in the bathroom with some food and otherwise trying to remember what my plan had been.
There was no urgency, in reality, nothing to stress about. But I hate to get things “wrong” in those situations, whatever wrong means … making someone wait, saying the wrong thing, not having moved something ahead of time that someone ends up tripping over that I had thought about moving but for some reason didn’t, getting downstairs without my keys, and so on.
All went well despite me, and now a slightly smaller couch sits behind a slightly larger couch, on deck as it were, and now I sit in the coffee shop near the open door and brisk fall breeze in a win-win for reducing my COVID exposure risk and the risk of someone else realizing I don’t smell good.
I’m dealing with the breakup the way I usually deal with these sorts of things: the Steve Brule method. “When you go to sleep there’s no lonely times. It’s just dreams.” Indeed, Steve. I’m keeping myself very busy with work and taking very long walks and generally just sort of wearing myself out. That sounds like I’m not resting but I am, more than usual, really. I’m just achieving it by trying to be appropriately tired at the end of the day. It’s hard to spiral too much or make unhealthy choices if you just fall asleep watching baseball at 9pm.
Anyway, hey, hi, if you’re new here. I did promise, by which I mean warn, that this was where my more personal writing went. Promise delivered.
And new or not, as always, I do hope you’re doing well. Hit reply and write back, if you’d like.
Until next time,
Very little, if I’m being honest. Not quite in the headspace. I picked up Mississippi Sissy at a used bookstore in the French Quarter on my travels to Lavacon this week, where I met this incredibly excellent cat, Juniper:
In looking for a link to the book, I came across this NY Times review of it, which has now put me off of reading it but is in itself an excellent model of disambiguating criticism of a work from criticism of its author.
Shantaram on Apple TV+, which I’ve found rather thrilling and fascinating and also a study in a lead actor giving an inspired performance despite an unintentionally comedic accent.
I raved on Twitter (RIP) about Byzantium, an exquisite vampire movie I’d never heard of until its thumbnail was in front of me.
Catching up now on Star Trek: Discovery Season 3, a show I seem to enjoy much more than my other Trekkie peers. 🤷🏻♂️
To Sylvan Esso’s full catalog, over and over on repeat, to keep my thoughts from wandering too much while I walk and work. 🎵 oh I can’t stop, ringing it … the alarm, the alarm, the alarm. 🎵
Marvel Snap on iOS. Jesus Christ someone take this game away from me please.