Hour 20 of our Good Friday fast. I find it amazing how much of our automatic routines revolve around food. I got up this morning and I was at a loss without breakfast. Everything just felt disjointed, rushed, difficult. Fortunately my first shot at waking up was rather short: the Boy woke me up early for no particular reason, and after I blistered his hide with an impassioned oratory on why it was a bad idea to wake me up at 7 a.m. on my first morning after practicum, we both fell asleep again for a couple of hours. By the time we woke up again, it was late enough in the day that everything is supposed to feel disjointed. So that was all right.
As my bloodsugar has dropped, I've noticed all kinds of affects to my functioning. Writing these two paragraphs has taken about 20 minutes, because I have to keep stopping to regroup my thoughts. I tend to blank out every couple of minutes. My physical strength has almost vanished, although I did manage the up-and-down of this afternoon's Inter-Faith Good Friday afternoon service. I am measurably crankier, as evidenced by the venomous invective of this morning.
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Oh God. We've been watching our Buffy tapes, and now that the teevee is back on, Rosie O'Donnell is showing a dish made of lobster, clams, heavy cream... also, (Pixie Stix take note) it's made by firefighters with Brooklyn accents. This is like food pornography. I have to turn it off. I'm drooling. Season 2 Buffy will help me through this moment of temptation!
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Two days ago I found out from Palaver that he plans to pay back a chunk of money I gave him to fund his flight to Preacher's ordination. I decided fairly early on that I wasn't going to say a word to him about it because, well, our friendship is a lot more valuable than several hundred dollars that I could spare at the time. I'm not sure how it was brought to mind, but he has decided to give me a graduation present that involves the money. And I think we're going to use it to buy a car.
That's right...a seaman on the Good Ship Education is selling his '88 Mustang and we just may be purchasing it. If we do end up driving away with the car, we have pledged to name it the HMSS Lassitude in Palaver's honour.
So that's the story. None of this mentions the thrill of joy I feel every time I think that my friend is buying me a car for graduation. eeeeeeeeeee!
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3 years ago today: each week he has a different semiotics-themed crisis
