grindstone
Something in the hallway near my doorway smells like body odour. Odour du jour. I grabbed an incense stick outta the authentic tibetan (nirvana-in-a)box and, in my haste, broke it in half. A cursory search between the ruffles of my floor blankets and rugs turned up nothing, and I had to get outside and run, so clip, torch and in went the surviving smellguy and out the door, I.
When I first looked at my watch, I'd been running 41 minutes, 24 seconds. Which meant it was already 9 something o'clock. Having planned to be back by ten past nine, and being still several miles away from home, I stretched out my stride and charged uphill to try and get back in time to get to the Cinematheque for Baraka at 9:30.
I ricocheted in and out of the shower, toweling off the soap, but finally gave up hope at sight of the clock.
So, I'm still at home. And still trying to breathe and cool off my hurried agitation.
Well, I renewed my search for the incense stick. It's somewhere on the ground, I swear. Out of the box I thunk, and, crouching nose to the ground, ass to the sky tried smelling for it around my dresser feet.
At first I used deep breaths, but learned quickly that the long exhales required I pause my search. Dogs know what they're doing. They've got the sniffing bit down pat. I tried it in!ex^haling as quick as I could, but still got held up having to expire a whole lot of air after a bit. Anyway, if you've never closed your eyes and sniffed vigorously for something, burrowing under blankets and around furniture... well, you've just not been that close to feeling like a doganimal.
I used to talk to a dog when I was a little'un. Not just talk, but mimic, and pet and try my utmost to see if we could break down the barrier of communication. She would just look at me and lick my face. I love when girls do that.
Last weekend some chick asked if I had ADD. Juicay said I was just "very curious."
I still haven't found the stupid stick. I am incensed.