I’ve been off the bike for over a week and off the walls for about as long. With three days off work, I should be scratching that itch. Alas, the itch comes from the healing tattoo on the back of my right thigh. If you’re an Instacrapper, the new ink can be found on jessparetattooer’s account: it’s the Tiger Lily.
Alternative, low-impact plans for my extended weekend:
Severe weather conditions where? Balmy Illinois–where it was last scanned–or here? I rode to work in -3º C weather yesterday morning. This was not a new experience for me as it was colder than that on average for at least three months straight in Montréal. Somehow, in just a year and a half, I’d forgotten how cold -3º C felt. I guess I’ll always be a Fraser Valley Girl.
My commuter outfit yesterday was more or less this:
Under all these layers, specifically the face layers, I look like a million bucks!
Ok, Bezos, you win. I’ve upcycled one of #304’s empty Amazon boxes as a bedside table. I get to roll out of my bed without injuring myself for a week as my bed frame was disassembled and moved to my future home on Tuesday.
I sleep a safe 11″ off the floor. I can make do with this for a few nights. The camp chair as a couch situation, however, is getting old. Every time I go camping with this chair hereon, I will have indoor memories associated with it. I’ve sullied my camp chair by turning it into makeshift living room furniture for a month. Yup.
I was supposed to have the day off yesterday to do fun things like clean the oven. Instead, my boss summoned me to work. It was a bike shop shift, which I haven’t gotten many of since October. Getting paid to work on bikes seemed like a more pleasant alternative to huffing oven cleaner fumes.
I have today off to prep the place for the next tenant. I’m going to hide messages of encouragement everywhere so that they can be like, “Awww… but also creepy.”
I AM SO PROUD OF YOU. I JUST WANTED TO TELL YOU IN CASE NO ONE HAS.
Tomorrow, I get my new teeth installed, or, if you prefer, the more regal version: get my teeth crowned. I’ll get to bite into food again, but with much apprehension now that they have a price tag attached to them.
I forgot to bring a fork and knife to work for my leftover pizza, so I had to shred it into small bits with my hands like a raccoon. Nobody else was in the break room while I did this, nor did anyone walk in on me doing this. Otherwise, I would have an obligation to explain that my teeth are plastic, effectively making myself seem more insane than initially suspected.
Besides, when I tell people I have plastic teeth, they probably recall the scene in Dennis the Menace where he breaks Mr. Wilson’s dentures and swaps the front teeth for Chiclets.
In truth, they look normal. Disappointingly ordinary, even. Only when you see me eat will you know something isn’t right.
As for today’s mini Throwback post: My blog posts were more frequent but often less fleshed out, and this one is an example of that.