Wednesday, December 08, 2004



The Figures And Measurements Offered In Figure 16 Are Compilations Of Several Tables Showing "Ideal" Weights; They Are Not Meant To Be Absolute, Since There Is At This Time No General Agreement As To What Normal Weight Should Be. If Your Weight - According To Your Age, Body Build (See Figure 17), Height And Sex - Lies Within The Range Of 20 Percent More Or Less Than The Suggested Figure, It Can Be Considered Usual. For Example, The Ideal Weight Of A 45-Year Old, 68-Inch-High, Medium-Body-Framed Man Is Listed At 150 pounds, But Any Weight Between 120 pounds And 180 Pounds Could Still Be Listed Within Normal Limits...

To have fingers that smell like chimney smoke and can't be washed fully of its odor, I guess is much better than many other smells that can replace it.

And now, the refugee cat is trying so hard to get that plastic water bottle cap behind me. He's trying so hard. If I could, somehow, tap into its reservoir of diligence and somehow transfer it into my human body - The wonders I could do for myself! But cats are cuter anyway. And all of the pretty-looking folk usually get all of the breaks.

I used to conduct imaginary interviews with myself in the bathtub when I was a kid.

Now that I'm an adult, I perform self examinations on my various, cancerous bodyparts instead.

No more praise.

Only prognosis'.

Lacuna, Inc. could make me forget the past, but I would only end up repeating it.

Traveling back in time wouldn't help either. It'd only make Doc Brown exclaim, "Great Scott!" more often.

Girlfriend just interrupted my train of thought with her slippered feet and a question about Christmas decorations. She was holding up two things made out of that...what do you call them? That fuzzy little wire that we used in grade school for art projects? Looks like little pipe cleaners? Kinda like tiny caterpillar antennae?

Do you know what these are?

(Me, stopping typing. Trying to stifle an exasperated sigh)

Yeah. A Christmas tree and an ornament.

(Her. Pleased)

Oh. Good.

(Me, looking back at the computer screen and realizing that the one sentence answer to all of life's questions that I was about to type - has now left me and flown to warmer climates.)

Or it could be a sideways angry mouth and a sperm. Or it could be a fat lightning bolt and an escaping balloon.

She frowns and leaves the room.

Whish Whish Whish go her slippered feet.

Wish Wish Wish goes my slippery mind.

Days and opportunities escaping through my hands like Salmon.

Today.

Tonight.

Forever.






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