Well, that didn't work. After much upheaval (moving/complete change of roommate) I had to re-do basically everything. Here's to me maybe following through this time.
Kitana: I'm still me. Pheromone no longer attracts hobos and has instead shifted to creepy old men, though how much of that has to do with the decreased ratio of homeless to creepy old guys in this new locale has yet to be determined. Juggles commission work and a third shift job with social life and, as a result, is generally sleep deprived at any given time. Even when I'm not, my internal clock is so confused that my body decides it's tired anyway. Like I've self-induced some kind of strange opportunistic narcolepsy, which ultimately culminates in me falling asleep in the middle of the day on my expensive Klimt rug surrounded by sketches and tax papers; then waking rugburned and illogically cranky when Jenny helpfully tries to tell me to go to bed because the last time I slept on the rug I bitched for a long time because it was uncomfortable and I drooled all over it.
Jenny: Is still my best friend and somehow living with me has not made her reconsider that. I think. Discovered recently that she particularly enjoys parsley dipped in salt water. This concerns me. The rule of Are What You Eat dictates she could be a burgeoning holy relic of a sort. I’m not sure my nocturnal, garlic-loathing, pseudo-vampiric self could survive that. So I’ve been working on her desaturation in small ways. She is mostly cooperative and disturbingly unfazed by the lead in, “Oh my god, this is nasty. Here. Try this.”
I’m also relatively confident that if she perishes by unnatural causes, it will be by my hand or (more probably) in her car. Because one day she will run out of gas without her wallet in a remote location I cannot reach and she will die of thirst because she’s full of salty parsley and salt dehydrates you.
No comments:
Post a Comment