Wednesday 11:08 p.m.
The whatever it is, which fills the sheath with bliss and warmth and the wonderful pushing and stretching, is coursing through my upper shoulders and neck area as I write this.
The old, toothless one and I are really starting to nail this run. I became such an old fat basturn over the summer. You think you'll never get it back. This is it. You've lost it. You're coughing and spluttering, lugging yourself around. Painful psychologically. Then, by tonight, I felt as if I was flying in comparison. There's nothing like running. You never get that kind of breathing when you are cycling. Tonight on the hills I got way down passed the wheeze! It was great, so it was!
Then at ten I settled down in the living room in front of the telly with the Domestic Bliss. I've got the headphones on and my eyes closed. Maid In Manhatten is the movie that's on. So much bliss!
Unfortunately, once more I dance the dance of death with the Nicotine Dragon. I guess I'll have to set my mind on giving up smoking the bob, getting back to the cannybliss yogurts, or just giving up in the New Year and trying to clear off my debts.
I have a full appointments diary until Sunday. On Saturday night, a Beach Boys evening is on down at Brian Wilson's castle in Porty with moi and FungI Dave in attendance. I may have to go to hospital on Sunday.
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2 comments:
Please say hello to Brian for me. One hopes you have a good trip home from Porty.
Albert? I'll be tucked up in bed by twelve! Hotboy
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