Wednesday - July 25, 2007
Cold spaghetti and a coffee bun.
Today has been Carbo-Loading Day.
I had a roast beef sandwich and a coffee bun from Delifrance for lunch, pancit in the afternoon, and have just eaten a little over half of a Pizza Hut spaghetti-in-oven-pouch. What I would really like to have most days is a spicy salad (Thai green papaya salad, to be exact) and Zhuang's fish fillet with garlic. Carbs make me sleepy, and easily annoyed. But they do fill the tummy, and sometimes you need that to get through the day without being interrupted by burbles and gurgles from your midsection.
Today is also Day Two of New Glasses.
Yes, I have new glasses. "Why not laser surgery instead?" I am attached to wearing glasses. I like being able to take them off and having the world blur all around me. Selective blurring makes the world a kinder place. When I was ten, I discovered that I couldn't read the responsorial psalm flashed on the screen in church if I closed my right eye. Until now, my left is more nearsighted than my right.
Today is Almost Over.
In ten more minutes, it will be another day gone. We exhale the past and inhale possibilities, forebodings, wisps of mundane prophecies. "It'll be better when you wake up." I've always liked that part.
I had a roast beef sandwich and a coffee bun from Delifrance for lunch, pancit in the afternoon, and have just eaten a little over half of a Pizza Hut spaghetti-in-oven-pouch. What I would really like to have most days is a spicy salad (Thai green papaya salad, to be exact) and Zhuang's fish fillet with garlic. Carbs make me sleepy, and easily annoyed. But they do fill the tummy, and sometimes you need that to get through the day without being interrupted by burbles and gurgles from your midsection.
Today is also Day Two of New Glasses.
Yes, I have new glasses. "Why not laser surgery instead?" I am attached to wearing glasses. I like being able to take them off and having the world blur all around me. Selective blurring makes the world a kinder place. When I was ten, I discovered that I couldn't read the responsorial psalm flashed on the screen in church if I closed my right eye. Until now, my left is more nearsighted than my right.
Today is Almost Over.
In ten more minutes, it will be another day gone. We exhale the past and inhale possibilities, forebodings, wisps of mundane prophecies. "It'll be better when you wake up." I've always liked that part.