The belly has its reasons
Feb. 16th, 2011 06:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceWhy, you ask, is Barry happy?
Barry is happy because he got Extra Tea.
Why so, you ask?
Because Mac didn't want his tea, so Barry ate it.
And why, you ask, did dear Mac not want his tea?
Because dear Mac had already raided the shopping and gorged himself on bloody lamb's kidneys, is why. As I have just discovered.
I am getting so fucking fed up with this. Of course there is a solution, which would be to lock away everything edible the instant it entered the house, and always to put everything back in lock-up the moment I was finished with it, and never to leave anything fragile anywhere exposed, and and and. And that is so orthogonal to the way I work and think and am, it would mean rewriting not only my lifestyle but my whole damn character, as well as my whole damn house; and I don't believe I'm capable. (The reason I neglected the shopping? Is because I came in and dumped the shopping-bag in the dining-room as I always do, and went back into the hall to shed my jacket, only the zip broke so I had to pull it off over my head like a sweater and then fix the zip, and by the time I'd done that and taken off my boots I was already thinking about e-mail and work and so forth, which is all upstairs, so... yup. I came upstairs, as I always do. And forgot the shopping.)
And now that I have washed the blood out of the new backpack, I am going to pour another glass of wine and do some bloody work.
Sorry, this one doesn't get to be a poem.
Barry is happy because he got Extra Tea.
Why so, you ask?
Because Mac didn't want his tea, so Barry ate it.
And why, you ask, did dear Mac not want his tea?
Because dear Mac had already raided the shopping and gorged himself on bloody lamb's kidneys, is why. As I have just discovered.
I am getting so fucking fed up with this. Of course there is a solution, which would be to lock away everything edible the instant it entered the house, and always to put everything back in lock-up the moment I was finished with it, and never to leave anything fragile anywhere exposed, and and and. And that is so orthogonal to the way I work and think and am, it would mean rewriting not only my lifestyle but my whole damn character, as well as my whole damn house; and I don't believe I'm capable. (The reason I neglected the shopping? Is because I came in and dumped the shopping-bag in the dining-room as I always do, and went back into the hall to shed my jacket, only the zip broke so I had to pull it off over my head like a sweater and then fix the zip, and by the time I'd done that and taken off my boots I was already thinking about e-mail and work and so forth, which is all upstairs, so... yup. I came upstairs, as I always do. And forgot the shopping.)
And now that I have washed the blood out of the new backpack, I am going to pour another glass of wine and do some bloody work.
Sorry, this one doesn't get to be a poem.