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Morning Pages - Three - The Annals of Young Geoffrey: Hope brings a turtle [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
Young Geoffrey

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Morning Pages - Three [Aug. 16th, 2007|08:40 am]
Young Geoffrey


All right, that's a cheat. Well, not a cheat, but a theft. Well, not really so much a theft as a borrowing. Well, all right, a theft. But a theft that's a result of a cheat.

The cheat was that I checked my email - and read it - before I began to type. And stole the lj-cut text from the title of Eliz's email.

If the morning pages gods would be so kind as to accept an excuse - well, not so much an excuse as an explanation - would it make any difference if it was a fairly short email?

Onwards.

I wore underwear yesterday. Well, not really underwear. Not underwear at all, actually; not technically, though they were worn under there - meaning beneath my shorts, which are not to be confused with actual briefs. In truth, I sported my bathing suit beneath my khaki - well not strictly khaki, but some kind of green - shorts.

The reason? I don't wear underwear, got out of the habit back when I was a young teenager and living rather close to the edge. Purchasing a garment that no one would see struck me as rather an extravagant luxury, which purchase was put off into an indefinite future - a future which has yet to arrive, and which I doubt will arrive until my dotage and incontinence begins to set in.

But I digress. Why, I hear you cry, Gentle Readers (those of you who are not madly moving to the next item on your friends' list, and casting wildly about for the keyboard disinfectant you keep near your desk for just such moments of Too Much Information. There's more to come), why oh why did you wear underwear young Geoffrey?

For no good reason, as it turned out.

Last summer, when I went to see the Good Doctor Keystone for my physical examination, I neglected to think of the nakedness hidden beneath my trousers. When the time came and the Good Doctor instructed me to disrobe - "Except for your underwear" - before she egressed for what she must consider the necessary length of time for her patients to discover that air conditioning is not necessarily a Good Thing - I informed her that I was wearing any. And thus last year's exam was conducted without full nakedness, save for the moment she donned her surgical glove, glistening with oh! so cold vaseline - well, I say vaseline, but in truth I know only that it was a cold lubricant of some sort - and thrust her finger up my bum, access granted by the pulling down - just far enough - of my pants as I lay on my side on the gurney. (I told there would more instances of Too Much Information!)

So, yesterday, I was prepared, my private parts packed tightly behind the blue material as was Good and Proper.

Perhaps wearing underwear is a Sign indicating that nakedness is permissible after all, for this year, she asked me to remove the garment entirely mid-way through the examination. And so, this year, I was indeed entirely naked when for the second time in my life an object entered my bum, rather than exiting it.

In any event, and pending the results of the blood and urine tests, my Good Doctor seems satisfied by the slowness of my deterioration. She is impressed that I have lost a significant amount of wait, pleased that I am not drinking quite so much as I had been and - of course - concerned that I continue to smoke. She saw no sign of any cause for immediate concern and so I can (again, pending the results of those tests) shrivel merrily away for the next year, reasonably confident that no Dread Disease is likely lurking in my innards.

So when I came home - famished, as I had not yet broken my fast - I treated myself to not one, but two, sausages, slathered with sourkraut, and mustard, and relish, and even with ketchup, broiled to a finely crisped casing.

Unhealthy and unethical, I know, but a delicious indulgence to which I sometimes treat myself.

This morning, however, I shall return to my standard breakfast fare of yogurt and granola, adulturated with a selection of nuts and fresh Ontario strawberries and raspaberries. (I begin to salivate in hungry anticipation even as I type this.)

Indeed, I believe it is time to cease my morning's random typing and prepare said breakfast, along with a pot of coffee, in which I have not indulged for the past two days.

Exeunt
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Comments:
[User Picture]From: sck5000
2007-08-16 06:57 pm (UTC)

ad hominem attack 2

I am developing an affection for the way you write messages that sound like you are an ambitious, young Rhodesian man who was taught English by missionaries with 1920s school books.

But the real point of this response is that now that I know you have a complex, many-layered privacy hierarchy for your entries, I automatically try to figure out what differentiates the ones I can see from the ones I can't. I have a mole in your highest ranking ElJay elite who forwards me the ones I can't see, even then one where you admitted that you like Doctor Who because you believe his wonderous elevator is metaphor for his closeted homosexuality (why else won't he fuck that girl?); so that I can analyze them, but you'll never figure out who the mole is. It's true, your inner sanctum is compromised. Red alert. Red alert. Red aler--0d,m @@ `

s_
!_(
[connection broken]
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