Sitting here, in my chair, sort of semi-awake, watching a Russian language show on YouTube. I understand almost nothing. I don’t really care. The images in my head are of sex. Nothing new there. I think of pleasure, power, intimacy, love in kind of an amorphous swirl.
No word from J on when her work is over for the day.
There is poison ivy growing in my backyard where I want ivy to grow. There is also an herbicide purchase in my future.
I feel allergies coming back. It is Spring, after all. There is only so much I can take, before I go back to bed. The discomfort tires me.
On YouTube, Oksana, the Russian Brassiere Maven, is holding forth on cups, straps, bands, what have you. She is a Master of the Science of Bra Fitting.
I suppose I should switch over to Daffy Duck, but no, this unintelligible language is so beautiful to listen to. Maybe Adam and Eve spoke Russian in the Garden of Eden. Who is to say they didn’t? I know, some smartypants anthropologist, but what the Hell.
Basketball. The University of Virginia won the NCAA 2018-2019 Men’s Championship. Exciting? Not really. It’s OK though. About as meaningful as The Miss America Pageant, but it sounds important. Maybe they should merge the two events, have the players play ball in evening gowns.
I switched over to trainspotting, just as the lawn mowing guys started outside my house. Feel sleepy. And hungry. And lonely.
Where is my wife when I need her?