…than rancid crab juice.
I’d found a claw on the beach and tucked it into my jacket, thinking it’d make a funny photo. It wasn’t funny: I was just high.
The smell didn’t hit me until I’d tossed the claw back on the beach. Usually, crab shells on the beach have been pecked clean by assorted scavengers, but not this one. Rotting crab juice spilled all over my hand with such permeance that rinsing it off with water from my sports bottle had little effect. And plunging my stinky meathooks into icy seawater seemed to lock in the smell.
I needed an artificial means of de-stinking, like alcohol from the spray sanitizer mounted inside the outhouse around our campsite. As soon as the alcohol evaporated, the crab juice was like, “Hello!”
How about wet wipes designed for de-shitting baby behinds? Not even that!
The hand lotion left my hands moisturized yet still fishy.
It wasn’t until the campfire got going that I was able to smoke my hands into oblivion. When I crawled into my tent that night, the only foul odor was that of my shoes tucked into the vestibule. At least that was from my own juices.
The second-biggest failure of this trip was the forgotten plan of stopping at a park somewhere along the Lochside Trail to see whether Nate and I remembered how to do “The Worm.” Stay posted!
Continue reading “I’d rather my hand smell like Mountain Dew.”
Yup, you learned it here.
I did not go to Africa. instead, I returned to the mainland for a Scrabble rematch. For more than two months, I carried the shame of finishing last against Marianne and Shannon. It’s a strong possibility this is the reason I have hardly blogged since my last visit to the mainland. I’m beyond a sore loser.
Two hours of laying down tiles and intersecting words resulted in this:
Continue reading ““There are no wolves in Africa.””
I wasted away Sunday with naps and YouTube videos, including one of a guy with a riot shield warding off a cassowary’s attacks. (More on that later.) I compensated for yesterday’s laziness today, starting at 8 am with a 1.5-hour session at the bouldering gym. Then, I decided to head to the seaside for a sprint on the bike, except I left the house with too much skin exposed. It was only 11° C, but it’s June*: I was almost more insulted than I was cold.
I drew a small success out of that failed ride with a QOM on Strava. I figured I’d do a celebratory strut downtown to drop off some homemade baked goods for the bike shop. (Snacking is their #2 passion after bikes). I continued my quest downtown, making quick stops for goods such as a bottle of titanium white paint to replace the one I wasted when I turned my bedside table into an eyesore. I also decided to liven up my place with some life with the purchase of two new plants.
Before 3pm, I’d gone climbing, walked a total of 14.5km, and cycled 4km. I could have stopped and declared it a productive day, but no! I also did laundry and made hummus! I had an important email I’d been putting off that got sent! Then, I decided to take a 24km spin around London on Zwift and got a QOM on that too! And broke 800 watts for the first time! Then I wrote this post! Next, I might bake and decorate a three-tiered cake tonight!
Maybe I’ll never sleep again.
Ah, the ups and downs of being Bipolar. It’s not just feeling intensely sad or happy: it’s often about feeling devoid of motivation one week and bursting with energy the next. I find it easier to accept that it is how my brain operates than to fight it, but sometimes I have commitments to meet; other people’s expectations to meet; laundry to do, and hummus to make. It’s inconvenient.
Now, let’s go back to that cassowary video, which I can’t find because the Reddit post I saw it under has since been deleted. Still, this leads to what I am about to reveal.
I’ve been to Australia!
When this comes up in a conversation in person, 4 out of 5 people (who haven’t been anywhere in Oceania) responds with variations of this:
Continue reading “Passionately unmotivated, yet optimistic.”
I’m still around. But, I wasn’t for a while. Yann and I–like everybody else–had to scale back our vacation plans for the year. We still wanted to leave town, so the obvious option was to spend a week on the mainland, where there are more people, and consequently, more infected people.
Our vacation included a few non-vacationy activities. I got my hair cut, skin pumped full of pigment, and made a trip to Ikea.
Continue reading “Sailing into the face of danger in the name of vacation.”
I’m never going on a cruise vacation. In the past, I’d have agreed to a cruise vacation if it were free, but now? Nope.
Continue reading “Cruise vacations don’t float my boat.”