Back to my desk, in my cubicle. Eating my delicious toasted bacon sandwich on brown bread with brown sauce and no butter, to Franco's great disappointment.
He knows I don't take butter, yet he asks every time so it cannot be helped.
How many calories has this sandwich got? I think it's 3 calories per carbohidrate grams, so, probably say 100 grams of bread so 300. Then 4 calories per gram of protein and 5 per gram of fat. The bacon is pretty fatty so let's make it 4.5 times say 50 grams so total calories comes to, uhm, get the calculator, 525 plus brown sauce make it 550. I probably burnt 750 on the way in so, I'm losing weight.
I don't really need to lose any but it's good to keep track, I think. My biggest problem at the moment is flatulence. Well, can it be classed as a problem. If I had no morals and farted any time I felt the necessity it would never be an issue, but I can't really stand up in the middle of the morning meeting, let rip a thunderous one, and thunderous they have been, raise my arms to the heavens welcoming the kudos and then taking my seat again. I wish I could do it, though, now that I think of it.
It's so unnatural to try not to fart. It's against nature, are you listening people.
My dad told me never to fart. I don't know where he picked that up from - Christian upbringing?
But my mother was brought up that way, too, and never mentioned anything about farts. About sex, yes. She gave me a thick book. "Read this". She said.
But no advice on farts.
Why am I farting so much?
I lay down for my extended Saturday sleep and cannot believe the amount of gas that comes out of me. And it doesn't really bother me, when I'm on my own. So GUILT, yes, guilt, turns me into something that I am not. Still, why is it happening?
It seems to coincide with me cold-turkeying from the coffee. Maybe it was too big a shock and my digestive system is confused, expecting a big caffeine hit any moment and mal-functioning in the meantime.
And all that time ago, a woman was giving me oral sex, and I felt like farting. It is not a nice predicament.
If I really didn't give a damn I would have, but I dind't want her to stop, so had to stop enjoying oral sex and direct my efforts to avoid farting. It is almost tragic, come to think of it. But the Greeks wrote nothing of it, so it can't be.
But halitosis, yuk! That is far worse, confess. That woman I kissed and kissed not because I wanted to, but because she wouldn't stop. She had rotten breath, still we kissed for what seemed an eternity. Her eyes closed, her fingertips running through my hair. I thought I was going to faint.
And I never told her, "By the way, you have terrible breath." I should have said. "I know" she probably would have replied.
So, will I fart in my cubicle. No, I decide. Chicken. Jenny might walk by. She never does but she might.
I finish the sandwich. Inspect my desk for crumbs and proceed with the afternoon task list.
Number one, music. Sweet music. Number two, chatroom. Number three, news updates. Number four, emails. That will do for the next couple of hours.
Some soldiers turn up for a chat. Verbal chat that is.
They are good hardworking people enjoying an early afternoon skive and social, before the going gets serious.
Tom is into snowboarding. Very addicted to it, in fact. He's done a couple of seasons, meaning, left everything behind and went to live on the mountain for the entire winter.
I visited him while he was out there. He tells me of snowfall across the Alps, where it's looking good, etc.
He lives for snowboarding and in the summer he sulks.
Meanwhile the others are getting kind of interested, wanting to experience this fever Tom talks about.
It won't be long before the company ski trip, so they will get their chance.
"Dan, from the top of the L'Yret, remember that first left?" He asks me.
"Yep, I remember". I reply.
"Ah, killer. Two blokes, Italians, died, the day after you left."
The others look, wondering how close Tom himself got to death, having been close to where it happened and speaking of the area in such familiar tones. Oh, this fascination with death. The last frontier, the unknown, something in those lines. It's got to be.
The mountain is dangerous when it bites.
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