So. Here we are.
So.
Here we are.
I could go to the effort of typing up a lengthy introduction, telling you a mountain of boring facts and figures that “sum” me up, but that sort of thing isn’t really my style, it’s a bit to stifling, in my humble opinion, to try and record the details of your life like some sort of report.
After several years of studying literary theory I like to think I have become a bit of a “post-modern enigma”, that I’ve surrendered my identity to the simulacrum of the internet and the facets of my personality are left to others to re-construct, however they see fit.
However that doesn’t mean I intend to fill this here “blog” with nothing but existential questions and lengthy philosophical diatribes. They will crop up from time to time, when the menagerie in my mind makes an interesting suggestion, or when I come across an issue or idea and I feel the need to over-analyse it. There will be just as many posts on the mundane and mediocre aspects of my existence, trust me. I will tell you about myself, but in dribs and drabs. Little packets of information, much like the packets of data traveling from my desktop PC here at my work, to whatever technological medium you’re viewing this on.
Now, for the first data packet.
I have a thin, but still rather nasty cut running from the middle of the cupids bow on my top lip, all the way through to my plump bottom lip. It was inflicted upon me by my precious little chimera, Cat Benatar. (Yes, like Pat Benatar. But she’s a cat. Thus, Cat Benatar.) We were indulging in one of our favorite pass times, playing with a ball of wool, or for any readers in the northern hemisphere, a ball of yarn. She is quite protective of her little ball of wool. My Mother, who adamantly insists she hates cats, made her the tiny little ball of pink thread to bat around to her heart’s content, and to keep her claws away from the lounge. (I don’t usually stay with my Mother, but I am there at the moment, with my Partner and our kitten until our new living arrangements are finalized. It has been two weeks, and although I love my Mother, and her Husband, it has not been the easiest two weeks. Mother’s are notoriously difficult creatures to please.)
Ever since Mum presented little Benatar with this new toy a week ago she has hardly been seen without it. She picks it up in her mouth and trots about with it, from room to room, dropping it at the feet of whoever is present and then staring up with her amber eyes and making a plaintiff little “mew” sound until they resign to play with her. Well, last night, shortly after arriving home I was made subject to this adorable performance and decided to give in to the calico cat and sprawled myself on the lounge room floor and picked up the ball of wall and begin to indulge my beloved pet in a game of tug-o-war. Well the game got progressively more ebullient, and little Benatar got progressively more frenetic, until finally, one tug led to another and I had a tiny paw, needle like claws extended, rake across my lips.
Well there was swearing, and blood, and needless to say, the tug-o-war ended with Benatar the clear victor. While I, the wounded loser, slinked off to the bathroom to procure some toilet tissue to dab at the incision. When I was satisfied that the bleeding had well and truly stopped, (I’ve never been a fan of blood.) I decided to nurse my lip back to health by getting a beer. I’m a strong believer in adding a slice of lemon to beer. Even if it isn’t a corona. (Lime works well too!) So after I’d stuffed the lemon down the neck of the bottle I proceeded to take a swig.
Instead of enjoying the refreshing tang of citrus and lager, my lips were set ablaze with a stinging sensation. Alcohol does not mix well with open wounds, even if they are only sliver thin.
Today, the cut on my lip is raised, and my usually pale pink pout is red and puffy. I’ve attempted to refrain from touching it, but there is something about running your finger over a raised wound that is strangely appealing to my sense of touch… is this just me? Or does everyone subconsciously enjoy the feeling?
1:15pm. Fifteen minutes till my lunch date. Outlook express has just kindly reminded me with it’s chiming pop-up. So here is as good-a-place as any to end this first post. The weekend starts at 4pm. I’m hoping for adventure, we’ll have to see what the storm clouds bring!
