Like sitting at the computer with your leg crossed underneath you; any fool knows you will end up with pins and needles but you do it all the same, you notice the strange bouncy feeling when you get up and try to walk on the numbed leg before the sudden nipping pains start.
Like picking at scabs, saying you're being careful, you're just taking away the crusty bits across tight pink healed skin until you pull too deep and the blood flows again.
Like cats and top-heavy stemmed wine glasses do NOT mix.
Like "I'll do it later"
Like re-reading your old words, hoping to see a different nuance, something to lighten the absence of hope.
Todays wine bottle, Marqués de Ballestar Reserva 2005, has a little net of gold threads around it, perhaps that will make me feel special, or at least help me forget that I am not.