(no subject)
i always feel embarrassed when i observe some stiff cock laying vulgar eyes up and down a pretty, young female. she is oblivious or at least pretending, and he is all slobber in a stone-solid gaze. i recognise at times i do the same, but in a most indisputedly innocent way.
come on.
another trouble today came in an infinite string of ugly absurdity, ornamenting my brain like stale popcorn on a christmas tree. so i was feeling a little distressed in station and relation, moving street beneath my feet, working my way to affirmation.
it seems i couldn't help but lazily examine my sources of malaise, but the solutions my mind haphazardly offered were so latent with lunacy, so sopping with shame, i was compelled on contact to shake them violently from me like a wet cat escaped from the bathtub of doom.
could i possibly be capable of thinking, saying, dareisay doing such despicable and psychotic things in the name of desperation alone?
i am afraid so!
méfiez-vous à my melancholy wrath. ridiculous may it be.
for i am a hatter.
now my dear ladies and celebrated paupers, i must tell the careful tale.
the red of my recent agony had all but dissolved and diluted into a ruthless, pinkish ache in my smaller intestine. or thereabouts, anyway.
i was confused.
i stacked vitamin c and indigo speed high in a wholesome sandwiched spill. (down the tubing and out through your chosen, swollen back door, monsieur. la chute.)
even after your disgusting display, i thought i would....
but....
the slick and sly pharmacien wagged his dependable finger and told me "pas d'antibiotique sans ordonnance."
he scrawled down an address and medical nominative block letters and sent me down the rue.
i hurried off to meet a certain doctor THONG (yes, but i wasn't thinking that at the time, just that he would be small and chinese--which was true) around the world and back to the upper 80's of l'avenue de choisy. i walked through the courtyard and into his medieval office, which was very small and full of objects quite resembling that horrible surgical chair from rue ordener. i had the impression that this was also his apartment, and it felt very strange to be there. he was impressively well-spoken with only a mild accent, but when he realised i was not french, he began to speak slowly and look up routinely to confirm my interactive eyebrows or nods of comprehension after each important statement.
he used words like "uriner," and then with a quick revocation, he tried adding helpfully, "faire pipi?"
i began explaining all my random and ambiguous symptoms, but he was uninterested in my proposed theories. he had made his mind from the beginning!
"ah! ahh..." he smiled knowingly.
he proclaimed my malady a classic cystitis, but i was wary of misdiagnoses and still feared terribly something much more dreadful (and even less romantic) like diabetes or kidney failure.
i was hoping for the best, anyway, trying to reassure myself as i got up to leave.
"oh!" he interjected absentmindedly as he followed me to the door. he began to shake his head sternly from side to side. "aussi...vous ne devez pas avoir les rapports sexuels pendant une semaine."
gasp.
so i guess you'll all just have to keep your rockets in your pockets for the time being.
i am jolly damaged goods.
come on.
another trouble today came in an infinite string of ugly absurdity, ornamenting my brain like stale popcorn on a christmas tree. so i was feeling a little distressed in station and relation, moving street beneath my feet, working my way to affirmation.
it seems i couldn't help but lazily examine my sources of malaise, but the solutions my mind haphazardly offered were so latent with lunacy, so sopping with shame, i was compelled on contact to shake them violently from me like a wet cat escaped from the bathtub of doom.
could i possibly be capable of thinking, saying, dareisay doing such despicable and psychotic things in the name of desperation alone?
i am afraid so!
méfiez-vous à my melancholy wrath. ridiculous may it be.
for i am a hatter.
now my dear ladies and celebrated paupers, i must tell the careful tale.
the red of my recent agony had all but dissolved and diluted into a ruthless, pinkish ache in my smaller intestine. or thereabouts, anyway.
i was confused.
i stacked vitamin c and indigo speed high in a wholesome sandwiched spill. (down the tubing and out through your chosen, swollen back door, monsieur. la chute.)
even after your disgusting display, i thought i would....
but....
the slick and sly pharmacien wagged his dependable finger and told me "pas d'antibiotique sans ordonnance."
he scrawled down an address and medical nominative block letters and sent me down the rue.
i hurried off to meet a certain doctor THONG (yes, but i wasn't thinking that at the time, just that he would be small and chinese--which was true) around the world and back to the upper 80's of l'avenue de choisy. i walked through the courtyard and into his medieval office, which was very small and full of objects quite resembling that horrible surgical chair from rue ordener. i had the impression that this was also his apartment, and it felt very strange to be there. he was impressively well-spoken with only a mild accent, but when he realised i was not french, he began to speak slowly and look up routinely to confirm my interactive eyebrows or nods of comprehension after each important statement.
he used words like "uriner," and then with a quick revocation, he tried adding helpfully, "faire pipi?"
i began explaining all my random and ambiguous symptoms, but he was uninterested in my proposed theories. he had made his mind from the beginning!
"ah! ahh..." he smiled knowingly.
he proclaimed my malady a classic cystitis, but i was wary of misdiagnoses and still feared terribly something much more dreadful (and even less romantic) like diabetes or kidney failure.
i was hoping for the best, anyway, trying to reassure myself as i got up to leave.
"oh!" he interjected absentmindedly as he followed me to the door. he began to shake his head sternly from side to side. "aussi...vous ne devez pas avoir les rapports sexuels pendant une semaine."
gasp.
so i guess you'll all just have to keep your rockets in your pockets for the time being.
i am jolly damaged goods.