a hand in my forgetting

The moon's full(-ish). Waxing or waning, I can't say. There's a car across the street idling. Its engine doesn't sound too good, which reminds me that my car is due for an oil change. My stomach doesn't feel too good. Might be because of the fancy Chinese food I ate, might be because I've been smoking again. I really shouldn't smoke in my apartment. I've so far constrained my habit in my study. I remember walking in one morning, and it smelled like an old lady. The kind of old lady who sets her hair in curlers before going to bed, the kind who likes doilies. And cats. Cats are a foregone conclusion. The kind of old lady who always has lipstick on her teeth.

I've been wanting a tattoo for about six years now. I'm thinking of using one of the panels of a Craig Thompson graphic novel. I'm hoping to get inked before I leave.

But, that circumstance deserves a post on its own.