I was up late reading that stupid sisterhood everlasting book and I’m...
Tonight I’m committing myself to:
- 1 hour of photo editing
- 30 minutes working on my resume
- 15 minutes cleaning the...
Ran 5 miles this morning doing it in 36:14.
My left ankle and right knee are being funny.
Less running…more kickboxing?
That helps the knee, not so sure about the ankle.
Blah. I have things to do today. I’ll think about this later.
Umm. Yeah. Not sure where that came from.
On the fit side, today I raced a few people fireman carrying heavy bags. Legs still work just fine.
feed me everything
That looks like the case as it is. I’ve got this moleskin of foods we’re supposed to eat, eventually.
I know you didn’t specifically ask for it, but I want to do this for you as well.
I’m just really glad to be your friend.
And I’m totally up for making you chai tea. It’s not even a question. I could probably make Almond Joy tea. Actually, now I want to mix the two. If I do, I’ll send you a batch.
So sorry for the lag on this, I didn’t know this was here until I got another ask.
Tumblr is a bit weird telling me about these sometimes.
Thank you! I thought this was cute!
…now I have to actually think of 5 nice things about me.
1. I will help any of my friends move if I can. I think it’s a weird need for me to display feats of strength? I’ll move a couch by myself, or a fridge. I’m kind of a sherpa of furniture.
2. I’m that guy that is so lax, for the most part, with his plans so that when people go, “We should do this thing!” my reaction is to drop everything, grab my travel bag next to my door with a week of clothes in it, and head out.
3. On the other hand, if a long, planned out trip is more ideal, I’m even better at those. Hotels, travel, secretly having a plethora of things to do if a group ever finds itself unable to make a decision as to what to do next, all my cup of tea.
4. Tea. I have a lot of loose teas and since I once worked a tea shop, I’ve become decently intimately knowledgeable about making my own blends. I tend to like making tea for people when I get to sit with them at my place, making something to compliment their mood or to lead them towards a more comforting one.
5. While we’re talking about consumables, I love feeding people. Let me feed you. All of you. Please.
OK, I’m not going to tag anyone or send this to anyone. Actually, I’ll do something opposite. Like this and I’ll say 3 things nice about you. 5 just seems like too many and 1 or 2 just feels like I don’t care all that much.
OK, so this actually took me a while because I’ve been sitting and working on things that require the logical part of me for so long that I was trying to quantify the dinner date, whether it was a first date or someone that I’ve been in a long term relationship with, whether it was a special night or just a casual dinner date.
So I had to let myself reset so that I could properly answer this.
Tossing all that away, I’m just going with ideal dinner date.
Cooking dinner will be the part in which we unwind. The day has been long and we’ve both been busy enough that it will be the first time we’ve been together for over a week. She sits at the island and opens a bottle of wine as she talks of her day and I just listen as I make rice and prep the veggies.
I drink very little of the wine at first, since knife handling will be in my immediate future and I’m always a bit overly cautious.
She gets tired of hearing the sound of her own voice, so she tells me to amuse her. I smile at her as I bring out the fish to the island, along with another set of knives and cutting boards and I begin to sing.
It’s no real song, because I can’t remember the lyrics to anything. The rhythms always feel familiar though, and the words are of my past week.
The song begins with my deep baritone, it’s strong and showy. I look up at her in between cuts and emphasize the energy I had at the beginning of it all, ready to take on the world and all of its obstacles.
The more I sing, the lighter my tone gets, the fatigue sets in and often, there’s a high tenor as I tell her how she has been missed. My voice still strong, but it feels as if it’s little more than a facet, wanting to keep away the truth, finding safety in falsehood.
And the end of the song, along with the end of the prep comes alive again as it arrives at the present, there with her.
The rice is done at that point and mixed with a bit of rice vinegar, tossed and left to cool a bit as the bamboo rollers and nori are set up.
Behind me, a small pot is boiling and I’ve pulled out a bowl of jumbo shrimp, tails all tied to a stick, and tempura out of the fridge. They will only take a moment to fry, so I’ll leave them for the moment.
I ask her over to help me, giving her a few sheets of seaweed along with cooled rice in a bowl.
Though I know she is perfectly capable, she complains that they won’t come out right, knowing my reaction. I stand behind her, head upon her shoulder and whisper in a singsong way how to properly make a roll, guiding her hands and pressing my body close to hers.
As she sets down the base for several more rolls, I dip the shrimp in the tempura and then lay the stick they’re dangling from across the top of the pot, this way the shrimp fry straight. I step away and check on her.
I stand behind her again, this time hands around her waist and I take a deep breath, remembering the smell of her and savoring the moment together. She will laugh at me for being so awkward and I’ll nibble on her ear in retort and scoot away before that escalates further, smirking and winking her way as I check on the shrimp.
When those are done, we’ll finish up the rolls, I’ll cut them up and we’ll sit together and eat, often trying to feed one another and, more often than not, missing the other’s mouth, filling the dining room with fits of laughter and light insults of the feeder’s coordination.
With dinner done, I’ll clear away the plates and wash, even though she’ll object and demand that the chef not clean. I’ll steal a kiss and tell her that she just has to keep me company.
As I stand at the sink, hands slowly and methodically ensuring every plate and utensil cleaned, her hands wrap around me this time, her head pressed against my back.
No words. She just holds me.
I can feel her breath through my shirt, she’s so warm, and it’s all I can do but to keep on task and not want to turn around and embrace her in that moment.
When the last dish is cleaned and set in the rack to dry, I dry my hands off on a nearby towel and then lightly grab hold of one of her hands, still around my waist. I then bring that hand up and lightly kiss her fingers.
We end the night on the couch, her now in my arms, and we take turns reading out loud to one another. The book we read from hasn’t been touched since the last time we were together, but last time I was in her arms.
She falls asleep in my arms.
I turn off the light behind me that we’ve been reading from. The room is dark and the starlight that streams through the window is just enough that I can see her chest rise and fall with every breath.
I hold her tight, kiss her on the top of the head and slowly fall asleep, her scent being the last thing I remember thinking of.
I don’t know if I’ve ever told you guys, I have a second blog, which I pretty much just reblog things on, being the opposite of this one, which I just put personal posts and what not. I got a writing ask from a friend and I really liked it, so I wanted to share it with you guys.
I’ve also go other writing things for Camp NaNo to eventually type up and post.
Off for my run now!
Tonight I hit the gym.
Lots of lifting, lots of squats, lots of hanging by my fingertips.
Feels good, to be back in a decent rhythm.
Now to devour ribs that have been slowly smoked for a good portion of the day.