between the rock and the cold, cold sea

I used to dislike it.

But this afternoon, I'm drinking a lovely plain black tea from Sri Lanka, contemplating the mist outside the window, and almost happily staring at my notes.

Strange how things change. Before I found my way into Palais des Thés on Wicklow St. (or is it Georges St? Who ever remembers these things?) I would never have imagined finding tea pleasurable.

Now, it helps me work through the afternoon.

Today I:

1. climbed;

2. made and slightly burned toffee or some like substance;

3. bought birthday presents for the parent;

4. bought a tea-infuser and made tea;

5. successfully avoided either a)self-murder or b)spree murder. Spree murder was especially tempting. But that's the brain chemicals talking;

6. hurt for no goddamn reason at all.

---

Maybe I should make more tea, except I'm far too sleepy to be trusted with boiling liquids right now.

First day back at the gym after a fortnight off.

Well, that was made of fail. A stop-starty mile in thirteen minutes, which is three and a half minutes longer than normal, and gods above and below, my wind is gone.

The weight work wasn't terrible, which I ascribe to my irregular programme of situups and pushups over the break, and I ran into one of the guys on campus, so I might well be going climbing on Saturday.

After the gym, I went to the French tea place, and bought myself Grand Yunnan and Rooibos au tilleul et a la menthe. They are tasty. I can see this tea thing might become a habit.

Now I must attempt to push the thesis on a little further, and talk about aretalogies. Perhaps after dinner, though: I'm getting a little hungry now.