Under the mangrove tree

No office for the poor sick Mistress today, though a good deal of work. Right now, my 'work' involves finding the most comfy position for writing a market report in - a position that will incorporate semi-lying down, being close to the fireplace and being able to reach food and drinks. I think I've found the place - I had the bright if evil idea of pushing the cat off her favourite spot on the loveseat, half unfolding it, and sticking my feet up on the headrest. Poor cat. Now she's sitting next to me and purring like an outboard motor - I think she's pleased to have another source of heat in the apartment that's not usually there during the week, though she's pissed off when I sneeze.

You see the level I'm functioning at today - territorial disputes with a housecat. Sigh. This weekend had its positive and negative moments. The worst had me in the park close to our flat, staring at the colony of monk parakeets and thinking 'what are the stupid fucks doing in Brussels when they can fly south?' Suddenly the city seemed like a big mangrove island in the middle of the sea, where alien beasts like me and the monk parakeets can eke out a comfortable-enough living, but absolutely isolated, floating in the middle of an ocean of shitty northern European winter, subsidized employment, and fuckin' Belgians. Far away from the sun. Marooned, far away from the sun, because it's easier than getting ourselves to a sunny place.

Anyways, I watched a few episodes of a World War I documentary and got over it. And recalled what I do here will prepare me for doing other things elsewhere, verily in the sun. It's naughty because I haven't even been here a year yet but I still look at other jobs just to give me ideas. No intention of leaving anytime soon as the money is quite good relative to the cost of living, and I'm not bored at work. Also when I do leave I fondly imagine it'll be for a life of leisure or artistic fulfillment. But it's amazing what I'm qualified for after a youth spent getting high and doing whatever I fucking felt like.

By the way:



And:



A HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!

I only noticed this today. There's something about 'unintentional plagiarism' when someone invokes Krishna right before launching into it. I mean, what do you think if you're the Chiffons, and one day you turn on the radio and the ugly-but-talented Beatle is using your biggest hit to sing the sort of let's-go-to-India-to-find-ourselves-luckily-they-already-speak-English-because-we-colonized-them hippie shit that helped sink the commercial viability of your doo-wappy girl band stuff? You think 'lawsuit'. But I bet the girls themselves didn't see a red cent. Naughty world.