70. Nourishment not punishment.

I have a friend in her eighties who say’s she never remarried because she was looking for ‘nourishment not punishment’.

It’s a turn of phrase that came quickly to me when I was lying on my bed after a sauna, contemplating another carrot, apple and celery juice for dinner. My sixth juice dinner. Sixth.

That’s because sweet Rachel was preparing a vegetable curry downstairs and the even sweeter tendrils of sauting onion starting sliding under my door.

Fuck off out of my room, just fuck off I didn’t say.

The aussie boy has fallen, a couple of days ago in fact. It’s a fruit and vegetable  diet for a few days post fast so til now I haven’t looked at his plate and wanted to elbow him in the bad back. But come on, sauted onions?

I’m not sure I could pull this off in real life. Cossetted away up the Maitai Valley by the chattering river and cheerful birdlife, it’s easy to channel a bit more zen about the juice and glue combo.  When we venture into Nelson though, I can feel that surly bitchy sixth former inside me rising back up to take charge. Three hours tops and I have to get back to the safe house.

And now the safe house isn’t safe anymore.

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