Harkening back to olden days when I could scarf bacon and/or eggs benedict with impunity, I set myself down with the tasty salty snack and absentmindedly burnt toast, fried in a pan because I threw out the toaster in a fit of disgust in a culling cleaning rage months back and not replaced it, to listen to my beloved band Augie March's first released single of new album.
Eggs Benedict no long agrees with me and I can only eat if I am heading straight home from the cafe after to baptise the bowl in enthusiastic effluence (on my more affluent days when I go out for breakfast wot with coffee or tea costs $25 or more *shakes fist at the often too tempting suggestion of a hash brown*).
I've not felt the same about bacon since the bout of food poisoning, which it well and truly won, leaving me passed out and waking all warm and relaxed in a pool of my own vomit (it took ages to wash it all the little bacon bits out of my hair).
Augie however are still a blessing to my ears and brain. I find myself murmurring little inanities as I listen like they are my favourite cat who has just been particularly pleasing and winsome and cute ... aren't you a gorgegous little boy ... whose a clever boy ... aren't ya just a cute squiggy little pooky ... i love you, yes I do, yes I do ... etc, and swing my feet and hum happily like I do when I am eating something particularly nice.
My toes tingle in anticipation for February when the album is released and the back of my neck tightens as I contemplate how there is no way in heck I can get to the first performance, whilst I still speculate on maybe possibly if I eat peanut butter and vegamite for the next two months ... maybe? .... but toast gives me indigestion nowadays and I am already regretting breakfast, though I made cats very happy with tidbits of bacon and they are grooming themseves in a pleased fashion and looking approvingly at me from their lofty perches atop bookshelves which is currently a much favored and competed position since a little rain and the heat have produced a small flea situation until Friday payday when I can purchase the solution to my itchy ankles, since the bookcase won't hold me.
Expressing my delight would be a great deal easier if I didn't have to chicken peck this out one fingered on my tablet. An exercise in exquisite frustration for a typist. It interferes with my flow.
I go now to listen to the song again.