19 February 2005

Who needs Valentine's Day anyway

Subtitled: Eat yer hearts out ladies

Updates around these parts have been non existent due to the fact that I've been balls to the walls Busy lately (note bolded capital). And I promise to fill you in on all the juicysemi-succulentkind-of-interestingwho-the-fuck-am-I-kidding boring minutiae of my life soon.

I will leave you this little tidbit to nosh on in a fit of envy. Because I'm a bitch like that.

Yesterday, known as the Day I Finally Lost My Shit, was the culmination of the Week from Hell's Clogged Sewage System (With Extra Rats!). I was so strung out and tired and stressed that some cranky comment from Curly sent me into the bathroom where i promptly bawled my eyes out for 15 minutes.

Consequently i spent all day yesterday looking like someone gave me two shiners a few weeks back. Crying does that to me, which is one of the myriad reasons why I loathe getting my tear ducts tripped.

Anywho, after a couple of hours of overtime (again) I stopped home to pick up some stuff before heading over to Shithead's place. Having finally taken two minutes to relax, I realise that i have a really painful knot in my left shoulder. As in, affecting my breathing patterns painful. I hop in the shower, hoping the hot water will loosen it up some.

Fat chance. It does, however, leave the black circles under my eyes noticeably darker. Fan-fucking-tastic.

I hop on the metro and boogy myself to the other side of the Tevere, where the Pope is just a stone's throw from Shithead's place. He cooks up a quick dinner and pops open a bottle of wine. We eat and watch Zelig, in the middle of which I casually move over to the two person couch because the shoulder is killing me. I curl up fetal style and he sits next to me.

We smoke a joint and, predictably, get the munchies. He grabs the cookies from the kitchen and hands them to me. Unable to move very fast from said fetal position, I can't control the wince as I sit up. But as we're talking about the chocolate chip cookies that I baked the other day, I'm quickly distracted from the bothersome shoulder knot.

Shithead disappears, I presume to get the usual glass of millk for himself (I rarely drink straight milk, even if cookies are involved). He comes back with the pillows from his bed and props me up full length along the couch. He sits on one of the dining room chairs, where it takes an hour for me to cajole him into sitting on the other half of the couch with my feet on his lap.

Zelig finishes and we find old clips of Aldo, Giovanni e Giacamo while channel surfing. As much as I love and owe the beginnings of my Italian to the three comics, I crash out. At some point I got put to bed. Couldn't tell you how, but I suspect it involved wrangling a semi-sleepwalking me off the couch, into the bedroom, out of my clothes and into bed.

Not an easy feat by any means.

This morning's version of "Whose Buggery Cell Phone Alarm is Going Off Now and Won't You Please Hit the Snooze Again So We Can Continue Spooning" saw the shoulder not much improved and me still more incoherent than not. As I knew he had to get up earlier than I, my dozing was not disturbed by him sliding first out, then back into bed.

It was slightly disturbed by drops of massage oil being dripped onto my back, however.

And thus knots in my back received a slight pummelling this morning. i say slight as it'd take a jack hammer to undo those babies. That and Time was pressing and the front side had yet to be done.

Fine. 'Time' was pressing into the crack of my buttocks, thus he did the front side.

Quite nicely too.

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