Friday morning was spent at the vet getting Lola her shots, and her nails clipped. After dropping her off at home, I headed to the shop for a few hours to check some stock in, and then to get groceries and supplies for an evening of summer slack.
I found myself up reasonably early on Saturday morning, so after some toast and coffee, I stuffed various hunks of blubber and unsightly manly bits into some too-tight kit and headed out for a quick 20 mile Better Than The Trainer Ride™.
We back!
By we, I mean Macro Monday, and by back I mean, well, um, it’s back. Macro Monday is back. [face in palms because I’ve overcomplicated things yet again.]
Where did the week go, eh?
A week ago tonight, I was hit in the belly by the iron fist of a stomach bug. I believe the bug was brought to me via some tainted chicken thighs and caused me to spend the next 24 hours in bed or in the bathroom with a dry heaving bung. Alas, I’ve said too much.
As the last week of being Not Really Quarantined winds down (for now), and most shit opens back up (except my goddamn barber!) this coming Monday, my week was filled with adulting. My outdoor activities were limited to a quick ride on Monday morning, a short walk around the Sylvan Solace with my camera for an hour on Wednesday (while getting eaten alive by mosquitos), and a 25-mile dirt road ride on Saturday afternoon.
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.
I know it’s wrong to talk of illness in the throws of a global pandemic, but given my two-year on/off relationship with my bike, for me to ride three out of the past four days must mean I’m ill. In an awesome, it feels good to sweat, slobber, pant, and wake up sore sort of way. Cheez-Its H. Rice, that made it sound like I was having sex with a bear. A bear, not a “bear.” Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.
I think I must be adapting to this Not Really Quarantined pandemic lifestyle; despite a ride on Friday, doing whatever else it is I do, and staying up too late trying to forget about the year that keeps throwing poo known as 2020, I was up early on Saturday. I guzzled some coffee and shunned my intermittent fasting for the day as I smashed some avocado toast (it’s not just for Millenials, yo), and watched some action from the current greatest football league in the world (das Bundesliga) 1. Then it was a few visits to the Throne of Soilage, before waiting around to greet Bob the Irrigation Man when he arrived to reroute some sort of water line thing-a-ma-jig being pinched by a tree root 2. Three hours later I was finally ready to ride.
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.
As Pandemic-A-Go-Go 2020 weekends go, this one was pretty darn, not bad-ish. I mean, if you take out the facts that for the first Mother’s Day weekend in about 7 years, Wifey and I were not watching B play footy at the Midland tourney, that any time I cough, I briefly spiral into mind-racing thoughts of having “the” COVID, or that I have to mask up to enter a store with no plans of robbing it, only to find myself surrounded by maskless rim lickers showing me that they have the MAGA American God3-given right to not wear a mask and help prevent the further spread of a virus. Yeah, if you take that shit out, it was all pretty normal and sort of fun.
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.
I spent the whole of Friday edging4.
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.
Some days are pretty darn OK, even when they don’t offer one all that much. Such was the case with my Thursday, Day ____ of being Not Really Quarantined during Pandemic-A-Go-Go 2020.
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.
THURSDAY, 10:13 AM
I’ve looked at this blank page of digital nothingness for too long. I’ve got nothing right now. If I stay here looking at the blankness for any longer, I won’t be able to not talk about the fact that I know, ACTUALLY FUCKING KNOW, a COVID denier.
