Mucha muchacha
My love for Mexican food will probably result in an untimely death, perhaps from a surfeit of smoky black beans, or hardened arteries from skip-loads of quesadillas. JJ and I went back to Wahaca on Friday night for the fastest meal ever. Arrived at table, 5.25. Finished food and cocktail, 5.55. I should note that this was a petite dinner, by our standards.On a related note, Mr Hall was ill on Friday, owing to what was described to us by Mrs Hall on Saturday evening as a "bad burrito". We both responded, in unison, "there is no such thing as a bad burrito". Mrs Hall went on to make us a delicious dinner (classic French, I should add, no guacamole in sight).
I still feel battered and sad from last weekend. I'm not sure what I can do to overcome this feeling. I am too dull to have any vices at all. Drinking bores me. I'm trying hard to limit my intake of food, so that I don't end up like the Goodyear blimp. I love strong coffee, but too much makes me jitter and jerk. Exercise is something I try to enjoy, but I am hard-wired to hate it. And there is absolutely no way that I am going to throw myself into my work. I can't imagine anything more pointless.
So that leaves me with thinking, which is the source of all my problems in the first place.
Labels: meh
posted by deafdisco @ 12:09 pm
2 Comments:
I think this is called being in one's 30s. It's sad, isn't it. Maybe we should start an opium den?
There's still plenty of ways to drive out thought. The only problem is that it has keys to the house.
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