I love looking through my own site statistics, particularly the referrals section (click on the little graphic at the bottom left if you want to see them, too). This site turned up at a respectable #9 on a google search for “little gal naked” – hah!
I’ve also been meaning to hop on this particular bandwagon for a while, but haven’t had time:
three things I see
- Hanging fluorescent lamps, and their accompanying white plasticky ceiling tiles. Vintage 70s library decor, yum yum.
- A strip of paper along the top of my monitor, telling me that “denne pc er tilsluttet printer no 6” in a nice, all-caps, sans serif font that I don’t recognize. There’s another sign on the bottom, reading “Print: 50 Ã¸re stk. Betal venligst i UdlÃ¥net”
- My own fingers. Only right now, I’m seeing them as separate entities, kind of blobular and spreading across the keyboard, all pinkish and a little bit greasy compared to the bright yellow cheapwood of the desk.
three things I hear
- Keyboard clackety-clack. Mostly not belonging to me.
- The hum and whirring of a copy machine immediately to my left. When it finishes scanning a page, it makes a whimpering noise with a bit of a squeak to it. Plus assorted soft beeps for no reason at all.
- Two women conversing in low tones, far enough away that I can’t even tell what language they’re speaking. They sound so much more human than everything else in this library, though, that I’m oddly comforted by them.
three things I smell
- Dust and old book. I’m not sure where it’s coming from, and it’s subtle enough that it could just be a figment of my imagination, but figment or not I still smell it.
- Warm Xerox toner, from the same copy machine I mentioned above. It reminds me of the evenings I used to spend copying reams of paper for the debate team, eating crap food and discussing federalism with a surreal level of animation. I still shudder at the thought of a federalism disad.
- Myself. I stink of human. Incidentally, if you haven’t seen Planet of the Apes yet, don’t bother unless you can find a theater where they’ll let you haul in a bucket full of rotten fruit. I went with an assortment of non-native anglophones, who crushed one of my most cherished fantasies: apparently, not understanding the monkeylisp or the american slang does not enhance one’s experience of a completely horrid script.
three things I feel
- My watch, pressing into my wrist as it rests against the edge of the table.
- A bit of a rumble in my stomach as I digest the spaghetti I had for breakfast/lunch today.
- The confines of my boots, as I absentmindedly jiggle my toes around inside them. I’m a huge fidgeter, in all circumstances, and it’s even worse when I’ve had some caffeine. Maybe it’s a sign that I need more regular exercise. Meh.
three things I taste
- Garlic, left over from the spaghetti sauce, or perhaps from something else I ate days ago. Garlic is one of the few spices I feel comfortable using, and as a result I throw tons of it into almost everything I cook. It doesn’t help that the only things I really cook are pasta, stir fry, and meatballs, all of which are very good receptacles for a clove or three of garlic.
- Snot in the back of my throat. Yes, it’s gross, but I’m fighting off a cold.
- That stale taste that oozes out from the corners of your mouth when you haven’t spoken or chewed in a while. Not quite as severe as morning breath, but it’s basically the same principle.