February 6th, 2012


(no subject)

My acupuncturist and her rebel studio appear in the Toronto Star and the entrepreneurial press. This is the woman with the comfy chair clinic, where you go to nap in any number of La-Z-Boys (no, that's not la-zed-boy, though most of the world reads it that way); and she manages to stick needles in my shoulders in such a way that I can lie down on them afterward, without pain. Go Ash!

Hooked up my new CD player last week, and so could play all the CDs that the old boombox wouldn't, like Onitsuka Chihiro, and thus found myself in 2002, where actually I had no desire to be. So played Loreena Mckennitt, and went back to 1996, which really wasn't that much better. Looked up back entries in Lj and found me reading those Woxin fics from 2009, and that was no good either. I conclude that time travel has little to recommend it. Except that this morning I woke up early, went to the bathroom and then, unusually, back to bed, and even more unusually, drifted for a bit; and thus remembered what mornings were like pre-loss of hormones: the happy warm fantasy world under the covers that lends such depth to the waking world outside the window.