Morning, afternoon, evening tea.

I come home, I turn the kettle on.  Through the front door, into the kitchen, boil water, first thing.  I pour a big pot of tea.  I drink it down, and turn the kettle back on for the next pot.  I burn my mouth on average three or four times a day on the enchanting liquid.  Green tea, black tea, fruit tea.  I boil ginger and drink it with honey.  I knock back hot water with lemon.  Next pot, keep the kettle simmering.  The windows fog up, the air is thick, the mirrors are steamy.

What is with this obsession for consuming things?  If I don’t keep myself full of tea, I’m liable to turn to worse things.  Chocolate things.  Crispy, salty things.  Alcoholic things.  So, tea it is.  It’s not necessarily bad, this particular addiction of mine, but must I always be ingesting something?  Is there a void, other than my stomach that I’m struggling to fill? 

Fatally Smitten

Fatally smitten.  That might be more fitting.  I’ve found myself both smitten and smote in a variety of ways.  Smitten.  Consumed with feeling, enamoured, joyful and absolutely batty in the most delightful fashion.  Birds sing.  Colours are vivid.  Sunsets have significance.   Then, there’s the other meaning of smitten: grievously stricken, afflicted, run through, torn asunder.  The floor collapses beneath you.  Your head spins.   Your heart drops.  And probably breaks.  Another of my favourite words: cleave.  Things are either cleaved together or cleaved apart.

 A cleaver is also a very big knife.  

I’ve delivered disastrous blows, and I’ve been on the receiving end of the injuries.  Nasty business, this love thing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvWstzEUTfU

or, maybe this one

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwnLlQ6t2uE&feature=related

Tuesdays.

She looks at the radio, vaguely noting that she’s not remotely interested in the music coming from it.  The singer vocalizes as if crying into the microphone.  This grates on the last nerve of someone struggling to procrastinate for a final few minutes.  The panic has yet to take hold.  How many sunrises can one see before insomnia fades and exhaustion sets in?  She decides to make a game of it.