Balm. Potion. Tincture. Unguent.

I am going to baby myself this weekend.  My nerves are frayed, my system worn out.  Last night after getting my hair cut, I went to the market and loaded up with luscious things--bottles of wine, big blocks of a variety of cheeses, a baguette, bowls of olives, humus, pita chips, triangles of thick date cakes, dark chocolates, sorghum beer, exotic soups, fruits of all sort, ice creams, etc.  I lay on the couch and watched two movies eating what I wished like an old pasha left alone.  I drank whiskey and went to bed early, woke early and drank dark African coffee and ate peanut butter smeared on torn pieces of baguette topped with thick slices of banana.  Then I went back to bed.  I will walk and eat and take a nap later, and maybe I will go shopping for clothing at some outrageously expensive stores.  I am in a dangerous mood.  Tonight, I'll watch movies on a couch smothered in pillows.  If the phone rings, I will not answer.  Sunday--I will do it all again.  Balm.  Potion.  Tincture.  Unguent.

Here is a photo I've borrowed from somewhere.  I don't know who took it.  But I guess you know I like it.