11:41...still no shower

It's a good ten minutes past eleven thirty and still no shower. I'm of two minds about this:

First, I feel alarmingly greasy. I don't want to sit on any of my upholstered chairs.

Second, you should smell me.

This is not an invitation to do so but rather a rhetorical comment.

But really, you should. There's a richness to it that reminds me of the deep loam of the Virginia piedmont, of long-down trees in Mississippi forests, rotting from within (aren't we all?), awash with insects. I envision a sea turtle, a mossy sea monster, gravid with eggs (if that's not redundant. I mean, what else might she be gravid with?), climbing out of the surf and, while I'm asleep on my beach towel, digging a nest for herself in my underarm, planting her eggs in my richness.



Me? I'm gravid with unpainted images.

Ah...the cycle of life. My heart soars like an eagle. I feel like a song from The Lion King.