The skin on the back of my hands is peeling. For some reason I thought to myself, when I was in Florida, applying my crazy strong sun-screen (SPF 55... that's high right?) to my face, neck, ears, and again on my neck, "I don't need to protect my arms from sun damage, because I don't put my hands over my head very often and as such they are significantly further from the sun than my head, to which I applied many SPF's".
So my arms got burned.
Mildly burned.
Less a painful burn than an itchy burn.
And not that itchy.
I believe fate has decided (in that way it can't because fate is not cognizant... or existent) to afflict me with the most minor of torments one can imagine.
They don't seem to be escalating in severity nor compiling into some unbearable pressure beneath which I have no choice but to be crushed to fuck.
Here's some stuff meant to illustrate my point:
- I've been lying on my stomach while blogging and my lower back and abs are starting to hurt. I turned onto my side and now I'm fine.
- My mother (who is in town) ate the last of the rice I made yesterday. I ate cereal instead.
- My pants are getting tight. They still fit. But they're getting tight.
- I got stood up by someone who asked if she could sleep on my couch last night, which isn't to say she asked to sleep on my couch rather than have sex with me, but rather that she called and asked if she could sleep on my couch and then never showed up. Somehow this made me sad.
- I bought sorbet today, and sherbet... I do not yet know the difference. While at the store I got the distinct impression the older lady (read: sexy, sexy adult lady) wanted to have sex with me because she winked at me when I thanked her for putting the plastic divider between her groceries and my bottles of wine.
Later, the girl bagging made a joke about Texas being "civil" (because I've still got a Texas driver's license) after which I made a joke (both hilarious and witty) about people civilly shouting for succession in the capital.
She stared at me blankly.
Either I wasn't funny (not fucking likely) or she didn't recognize the word succession.
As a result I fear I'm too smart to be happy with the people I meet while I'm out on the town but not smart enough to impress east-coast elitists like Natalie Portman.
- I can't think of anything else to add, which is itself mildly annoying. I'm blogging... so it's not like it matters, but I'd still like to have a list that is less shitty.
