so my ever lovely husband has decided he needs to cleanse his system of all the nasty toxins that 2009 produced... i tried to explain to him that he was simply old and should take half an asprin daily however, instead, he decided detoxing drinking just freshly squeezed organic fruit and vegetable juice would be the way to go. way to spell denial with a capital dementia. soooo, a delivered box of organic fruit and vegies from green line direct and a juicer from gumtree later our kitchen now smells like carrot skin and ginger.
what about me? am i partaking in the depravity and clinging ever so desperately to my sanity with starvation methods and natural sugar highs? no. i do what most girls do when they feel fat, i go for a massage and go out for lunch in the eastern suburbs where the girls are not only fatter, uglier, but also have a lesser life span and an IQ that looks more like Pi in its completion.
So until my lovely husband decides to eat a hamburger... i'm stuck with moody, headachy husband with ginger breath. so instead of being all caring and sweet and understanding (i did offer him paracetamol but apparently can't take drugs on a detox) i went to the park to read.
so again, this book is weird... anna's having an affair with vronsky... or bronsky? the one who isn't her brother... and she's pregnant, and to be honest a little la de da about it. but dude is in a horse race and she's holding her breath with anxiety. granted at the end of it he falls off his horse, horse breaks it back and they shoot it. this is another thing, two pages... maybe two and a half about his love for this bloody horse - going into details about its back and breadth and hind quarters, like specific, creepy weirdo horse lover details then it falls, he blames himself, decides it has to die in like, two sentences. tolstoy is way harsh. like bowel cancer harsh.
i also thought i'd lost my phone. but i didn't. now my music collection is safe as houses. well, tiny, small, misplace-able houses - like council flats.