October 17th, 2001

S&G 1

(no subject)

I was walking down the hall to the bathroom a few minutes ago and I heard a dove coo from someone's room. It's amazing how something as small and seemingly insignificant as a sound or a smell can bring up such powerful memories. Lots of different images and situations ran thoguh my head, and I finally ended up with a memory of walking along the path at the end of my grandparents' street in Ladeira, California. The path goes behind and between houses, and I remember how secretive and private I felt, like an explorer, when my sister and I would get lost on the paths, picking figs off branches that hung over fences but never being able to eat them because they were overripe; and listening to foreign birds calling into the warm evening.

That was a good memory, and it entertained me until I came out of the bathroom and saw a huge black spider crawling across the ceiling. (And yes, it was huge, I'm not an arachnophobic who blows things, like the size of a spider, out of proportion. :)

(When one types something in parentheses, and then ends the thought with a smiley face, should the mouth of the smiley face serve as the closing parenthesis, or should there be another parenthesis after the mouth like this? :) )
S&G 1

I have been corrupted by a tea-drinker.

I am having my second mug of tea in less than 24 hours. Before that, I can't remember when I'd had tea. I like it... I had a whole box that I had bought because I knew I liked it... but now I'm addicted. I feel lots of tea and lots of bathroom breaks coming in the next few days.

I realized this when I found myself staring at the hot water I was pouring over my teabag. I was watching the rich darkness cloud and corrupt the water like blood from a shark attack victim corrupts the seawater - peacefully.

I think I know what the water feels like as its being overtaken by color and flavor - like sliding into a hot bath feels to sore muscles. Like the advanced stages of hypothermia to a lost mountainclimber. Like smooth smoke in a smoker's lungs. Like being enveloped and surrounded by strong, warm, comfortable arms. Like a featherbed.

This water and I have been corrupted, and all we can do is let soft, curling tendrils of steam escape from our lips. Because we like it.