needles and pins / / /

Nyla says to say she's sick of my moist, naked ass rubbing against her when we sleep. I suppose the romance is dead.

Rough, rough day. N had to have these invasive neuro-spinal tests today (yes, she's OK) and in the midst of that we found out her aunt had just been in a nasty accident (she will be OK, but it was pretty bad). A doctor and three residents poked and prodded N, first with electrodes and then by inserting a long, thin needle into different muscles. She looked miserable enduring what would otherwise be classified as torture and I was miserable watching her deal with it. All the while I was hearing Sonny Bono's "Needles and Pins" in my mind. Later, after it was all over, I sat at a coffee jernt listening to terrible quasi jazz, catching flirty eyes from people too shy to say hello. I suppose I was too beaten down from the day's events to care about this and I know I'm too involved in my relationship to have cared otherwise, but I would have given anything at that moment to have been listening to the jangling chords of that great Sonny song and gotten a simple "hello" than to hear that crappy ski lodge muzak interspersed with the sound of my own breathing.

I'd write more, but my moist, naked ass is pooped.