There is Life INSIDE Your Apartment

Was it really only eight months ago I was whinging about how uncomfortable I was in this flat? Funny how things change. These days, barely a weekend goes by when I don't leave the place for more than twenty-four hours at a stretch. Some weird combination of Stockholm Syndrome and weather-related agoraphobia.

Some call it anti-social behavior, some call it nesting.

Today's an inside day. The weather's been miserable and I've got a deadline for two assignments tomorrow so I've been plugging along at those. And napping. And watching a crappy George Clooney film. And reading a good book. And wishing there was Diet Coke in the house; but not bad enough to walk outside for five minutes (I'd perish in these wintry elements).

Larry went outside for a spell today. He had his standing Saturday session with the personal trainer (surely they do more than stand around?) and came home several hours later.

"You were gone a long time," I said from a place of observation, not judgment. Seems he stopped at one of the Chinese Massage and Herbalists on the way home for a rub and a consultation. I'm not entirely sure how they diagnosed him, but they say he has a build-up of dried feces in his intestinal tract.

Wonder how much he paid to learn that? I've been telling him he's full of crap for almost twenty years now. No charge.

Yup, I'm a giver.