rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

A Rum Business

So I stayed in all day, which I'll probably regret tomorrow when it is raining and I'll have no choice but to stay in. When it came down to it I didn't have the energy to go anywhere, and there was nothing out there I can't do without anyway. Had there been a place nearby to get a decent hamburger I might have gone out for that, as I've been craving a hamburger, but Wendy's is the nearest place and it's way over on the far corner of the Plaza, the round trip walk being almost a mile. At one time a mile would have been nothing to me, but that time is not this time.

Since I didn't get a hamburger I'm heating up some fish sticks for dinner. In my freezer I found two packages that are "best by January 20," and that's a lot of fish sticks to eat in about four weeks, so I figured I'd better get started. I don't much like fish sticks, but they were cheap back when I bought them, and I can fake a tarter sauce to put on them (mayonnaise and sweet pickle relish) that's not too bad. Also they will go with the rum and cola I impulsively made a few minutes ago. Cola is quite good at covering the taste of fish sticks, and the rum will make me care less what I'm eating.

My cough actually seemed like it got a bit worse today, and my nose has been stuffier. The taste-killing stuffy nose is of course an advantage when you eat fish sticks, so I ought not complain, but it would be nice to breathe normally for a while. (Fish sticks done. Fish sticks eaten.) Okay, I don't feel like throwing up so I guess the old fish sticks were edible. And I've still got some rum and cola! It needs more ice, though, and is getting a bit flat so maybe I'll add a bit of sparkling water. It was a bit too sweet anyway.

I'm probably going to finish reading the real-life Victorian mystery about a murder that took place in England in 1860, The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher, tonight. It is an interesting story. Some of the characters connected to the murderer and the victim lived well into the 20th century, dying around the time I was born. If I believed in reincarnation I'd speculate about who they came back as (I'm looking at you, Sir Paul McCartney!)

It's odd, but I haven't seen any ants in the apartment for the last couple of days. Maybe they didn't want to catch my cold. I'm not complaining, of course, just making an observation. But it just goes to show you can't really count on anything in this life, not even insects. Just when I was becoming accustomed to having their company and feeling accomplished by slaughtering them, they vanish. Can it be that I killed every last one of them? Oh, beloved enemies, forgive me! I'm so lonely without you!

Whoa, I should lay off the rum.

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