All I need is the air that I breathe
Mar. 20th, 2015 03:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceI am increasingly disillusioned with today. Or perhaps decreasingly illusioned. Something.
In some perfumes is there more delight: California in spring, the air is heady. Our own garden is all orange-blossom scented, which is a fine thing; there are flowering hedge-plants, though, between here and the library, which are like being struck in the face with brickbats. Whether it's actually those or some less detectable pollen or what, I do not know, but something upsets me deeply. If I don't take a daily Claritin, I have minor but constant nosebleeds; even with the C, right now my chest is hurting when I breathe.
Sub-optimal optics: the first thing I did on reaching the library was to disintegrate my reading-glasses. Frame, lens, screw: all disattached. And without them, of course, I cannot see to mend them.
Fortunately, we keep a Jeannie to hand. She came to the library to find me and fetch me home, with added coffee; then I printed some stuff for her while she fixed my glasses for me, with the plentiful devices Karen gave me for just such an emergency. It's like she already knew me.
A hundred proof is only half-and-half: I still have work to do. The day so far has been a shrivelled waste. So I'm heading out again, in hopes of better outcomes. En route, I shall drop an envelope into a mailbox with a satisfying thud; en retroroute, I'll pop into the new Kabul to book a table for tomorrow. Nothing in this day could conceivably become me like the leaving of it.
In some perfumes is there more delight: California in spring, the air is heady. Our own garden is all orange-blossom scented, which is a fine thing; there are flowering hedge-plants, though, between here and the library, which are like being struck in the face with brickbats. Whether it's actually those or some less detectable pollen or what, I do not know, but something upsets me deeply. If I don't take a daily Claritin, I have minor but constant nosebleeds; even with the C, right now my chest is hurting when I breathe.
Sub-optimal optics: the first thing I did on reaching the library was to disintegrate my reading-glasses. Frame, lens, screw: all disattached. And without them, of course, I cannot see to mend them.
Fortunately, we keep a Jeannie to hand. She came to the library to find me and fetch me home, with added coffee; then I printed some stuff for her while she fixed my glasses for me, with the plentiful devices Karen gave me for just such an emergency. It's like she already knew me.
A hundred proof is only half-and-half: I still have work to do. The day so far has been a shrivelled waste. So I'm heading out again, in hopes of better outcomes. En route, I shall drop an envelope into a mailbox with a satisfying thud; en retroroute, I'll pop into the new Kabul to book a table for tomorrow. Nothing in this day could conceivably become me like the leaving of it.