More stuff about running

I don't know how long I ran for today because the shitty little watch I got so I wouldn't have to run around with my Blackberry strapped to my arm like a fucking wanker died. But it was a fair amount for me, around the cricket field nine times, with a little frolic with the perennial cattledog thrown in. Running around a cricket field nine times doesn't sound like fun when you see it spelt out, but this is a really fucking nice cricket field - surrounded by lovely hills, rainbow-y skies, and birds that are out of this world - lorikeets and rosellas and that whole awesome, mellifluous artemidae family.

As I'm sure you all know there are some landscapes that insert themselves right into the fabric of your brain from anywhere you spend any substantial amount of time, a little more egregiously than the rest - maybe from your walks through them to get to work or whatever so the relationship goes a little beyond familiarity. In Paris I guess it was the little parkette by the Palais Royale, and in Brussels certainly the park close to our apartment and also the Tenbosch gardens on the way to work, in Toronto Riverdale Park, in Ottawa the big open space with the sound sculpture by the defence buildings, the talking cigarette machine in Pinerolo, the Champlain river in North Bay - things that are so much a part of me that when I remember them and think about them, it becomes a little unbelievable that I'm not still close to them and can't just trot over to them. Anyways, this fucking cricket field here in L--- has joined them.

I do also like running around the city though, which is pretty dead so I mostly have the asphalt to myself. It's reasonably pretty as far as Australian towns go and of course the views are stupendous. I don't know if I'd run around the cricket field at all if I didn't want to spare my poor burdened knees.

I've decided I don't mind that my tits are shrinking. The F-word still likes them. The thing is I remember once early in our acquaintance I got really deathly sick for a couple of weeks and lost who knows how much weight. After that I went to stay with my family in Calabria for a week or so and thanks to my auntie's fucking awesome cooking - forget Soul Food, that shit is Holy Spirit Food - gained it all back. When I saw the F-word after that, one of the first phrases out of his mouth was 'you've gained it all back on your chest', and he just had this look of intense - I don't really know the word for it - some variety of happiness, I suppose - on his face. But now that we've been living together for nigh on five years, I figure my tits being differently-shaped might fool part of his brain into thinking that it's getting its hands on a whole new set of tits, and that will hopefully forestall any cases of the seven year itch.