Remember those days, I had you smelling my boxers?

There's a Ghostface Killah lyric for every occasion in life.

This morning on the train I sat across from a woman applying makeup. It's one of my favorite femme traits -- not just the process itself, but doing it on public transportation or in a car. I'm always amazed by the techinique and ability to perfect the lines and colors in the midst of the bumps and turns and stops. I love the public display of a personal moment. I'm sure I stare a little, but I try to make it friendly and not gawking. It really is admiration.

On Tuesday night while searching the bookshelf by the bed for an old self-help book, something strange happened. I pulled out one of my favorite pieces of fiction I've ever read. And I'd forgotten about it. I don't know how it went away from my consciousness, and at one point did I stop thinking "this is a book that amazes me everytime I pick it up and I recommend in every conversation about books"? I opened a page and the words were familiar with new meaning. I needed another copy. I needed more of her words. But it's not something usually in the regular bookstores, next to the bestsellers.

Last night before the anal sex workshop, I remembered I was only one block away from a great academic bookstore which would surely have this book and others by the author. And they did. And with money I shouldn't spend I bought a book for myself as well, another novel by the author. I resisted reading more of her writing initially because I was convinced nothing would be as good as the first I read -- a common reaction when I fall in love with a book. I either rush out and read all of their works back-to-back or avoid all other books at all costs. But I think I'm open enough to explore more. Besides, I'll have a lot more time to myself coming up and it will be beneficial to have new touchstones.

[Sorry I forgot to mention the title and author: The Stream of Life by Clarice Lispector.]

It passes the time.

While hole-punching an 800 page document with a machine that only punches about a dozen pages at a time, you can pass the time more quickly by thinking delicious and dirty thoughts. After-hours office time, spontaneous visits, flinging of paper clips, pressed against the paper cutter, all that good stuff. However, be aware that it's still 3:30 pm and your co-workers might get suspicious if you're imagination is too active.

No, my hands were busy only with handling the pages, but apparently my mind was very much elsewhere which caused some other body parts to respond. When my co-worker walked in and said hi, I jumped more than I should. Then she asked if I was okay.
"Why do you ask?" I stumbled out non-chalantly.
"Oh, you're face is all red, that's all.....Are you hot? I can't believe your hot. I'm always cold in this office."
Then she walked away.