I met morticia the architect again yesterday. I don’t know. Things didn’t really click this time. We did a bit of language exchangey but it didn’t seem very focussed. I loaned her my copy of Joe Campbell’s Myths to Live By so that we could discuss a chapter for her half of the exchangey. She seemed really eager to be lending it and, uh, receptive to recieving stuff. I offered her half a packet of asprins and she took it.
Also, in a one by one process, an unused australian stamp I found in my wallet, a lollypop, an aqua pen, some thumb tacks and a weary little gobstopper that’d been in the side pocket of the backpack since Geelong West. Unusual.
I think we’re gonna go ice skating.
I found a hairdresser that speaks the english. This time around it didn’t effectively help too much. They see evidence of the last short back n sides and can’t help but stick to it. Although I did get a little closer to one length all over. These things take time. Her name is Pam. Normally I don’t like the idea of locals taking up english names to make it easier for the whiteys. I sure as hell know that I would’ve never have a pretendy name just to suit another ethnic group in my own country. But I like the name Pam.
But the highlight of my day was finding out there’s another level of intricacy in the rotor things in my electric shaver. They were loaded with crud. This is why I couldn’t get a decent shave on in the morning. I was almost going to buy a new one. I thought maybe it was the humidity.
My cabinboy U-chin, that imbecile, would hop around saying, “oh si sinior!” over and over of a morning as I swore black and blue at the blasted infernal contraption; forever fronting up to the Officer’s mess with a still-prickly neck.
Saints be praised!
Hey, nice science one-piece!