Every entry on Spiralbound, the journal section of Metamorphosis Psyche (aren't you glad I restrained myself to three pointedly simple syllables this go 'round?) began with something like this:
seeing: the NIN videotape I'm wearing out replaying Closer so I can see TR lick the mike again.
smelling: honeysuckle incense, stinky resin. (totally need to clean out my bowl.)
tasting: chicken alfredo- Mom tempted me again... sorry birdies!
touching: velvet black dress from thrift store
(Incidentally, this is me right now for contrast:
sensory: see how much more freaking legible it is to pick one case?
- seeing: Bu's Buddhist prayers flags through a missing piece of horrid vertical blinds
- hearing: Dharma scratching her allergic doggy skin, birds outside
- smelling: for dramatic juxtaposition, let's say a poop diaper. But really, nothing.
- tasting: coffee
- touching: my hair, which needs to be washed.