I’m starting to sound like a broken record, or a corrupt file for you youngsters, but I find myself —yet again—playing shit show catchup.
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Who Dis?
My excuses are longer than a porn star’s manhood. My slack is stronger than a pre-castrated bull. And my waistline’s girth and body weight are that of a Mart-Cart fatty with a basket full of Ding Dongs and Mountain Dew.
Being a Gimp
When I say “gimp” I am not referring to how I feel due to the laundry list of health issues I have that include: shit hearing in one ear, tendonitis in my right elbow, worsening arthritis in my left thumb joint, edema in my legs, degenerative arthritis in my lower back, a history of DVTs in my legs, plantar fasciitis in my left heel, ongoing depression, and 50+ pounds of weight gain.
I’m of course referring to being the Shop Gimp.
Dealing With Black Dogs
I’ve never been a great writer, but enjoy writing; thus, the continued publication of this blog. Sorry?
However, in the past couple of months, my posts have become more subpar than usual. One of the major factors has been the appearance of Lola (the dog) in my life. I love her, but she’s a puppy and puppies need near constant attention lest ye have your living room shat upon and chewed to bits. Every week she gets a little better, but finding moments of peace to sit down and write can be difficult when home alone.
Time Suck
It’s been so long since I’ve had time to post anything here, I think I forgot how to write.
A Big Dump of Nothing
There have been no rides since the last ride. That’s not all that surprising these days.
The Spring of My Discontent
The thing about a Michigan spring is that there is no Michigan spring. Sure, it doesn’t snow as much, but steady rain and 39˚ does not make a spring, nor do sunny skies, 40˚ temps with 30 MPH winds to make it feel like it’s 25˚.
A 60˚ day of pleasure will be offered forth from the raised robes of Ma Nature on occasion, but for the most part, we just freeze our tits off nine months out of the year and roast our balls/lady bits off the other 3. I don’t know why I bother typing any of this, it is what it is, and I can do nothing but do what I do: pack on another layer of blubber, never put away my collection of flannel shirts, and buy another 12 pack of IPA to drink as I sit and wait for the brief respite of summer.
It’s Gone
It was here; I swear it was! Just for a moment spring was here. And just like that [insert finger snap here], it’s gone.
145 Days Later
It took 145 days, or 4 months and 24 days if you like counting that way better, for me to finally make it back outside for a ride. There was much rejoicing; there was also some “what the fuckery?” and some generous helpings of self-loathing on the sad topic of what I’ve let myself become (spoiler alert: fat, drunk, and stupid).
We’ll get to the ride soon enough, but given there’s not much to talk about, let’s backtrack for a little bit and talk birds, dogs, and beers.
You Wouldn’t Know It
You wouldn’t know it by my lack of posts, or my ever-expanding waistline, but I think I might FINALLY be back to being 100% physically, and 69% (NICE!) mentally, which IS pretty much 100% for me.