Swing band hour on the radio. Muted trumpets and a nice breeze as evening turns to night. Imagine my surroundings in black and white, and it's almost enough to put me in a good mood, certainly a melancholy one (baby). Walk into a pleasant apartment after 12 hours at work and I almost wished I still smoked. I would open a bottle of wine but would have to throw it out before I had any one else to share it with. I briefly consider polishing off the bottle myself but know this atmosphere won't keep for too long
I'm getting hungry and I know there is a frozen pizza in the freezer. Shit. There goes the mood.
In that flitting moment when I remember the pizza, my own personal Romantic Comedy morphs into a B Horror movie.
In the former, I live in the upper east side and am bored, seeking a simpler life in Vermont. In the latter, I'm changing into a boll wevil frantically seeking a cotton plantation in the bronx.
Back to reality and I am congratulating myself for buying a scale.
When I take it out of the car kudos will really be in order.
I have to wean myself off sweets and carbonated beverages prior to my gastric sleeve surgery.
I will. I always rise to the occasion, no matter how far down I start.
Pretty soon my hugs will have to come from people instead of food.
But for now a pizza yearns for attention.