I took the day off from hiking on Tuesday because I was maxing my time washing down the front porch railings in preparation for painting in the near future and mowing and trimming the lawn of the vast (not really) estate of the Cul De Sac Shack. So, come Wednesday morning, I was itching like a Lot Lizard’s gizzard to get out and lumber.
This week doesn’t stand a chance after last week!
The first steps of the Comeback Special, September 2022.
Wednesday Morning:
I have been in a creative funk over the past week or so, and I can’t seem to find my groove for writing or picture-taking. So, bear with me.
NOTE: There are no photos in this post. ‘Cause I ain’t got none. Also, this post is written with a tinge of dickishness and a pinch of sarcasm. Don’t take any of it too seriously because I don’t.
Hikes are very much like rides, “a bad ride, er, hike, is still better than a good day at the office” or some such bullshit we tell ourselves. And that is mostly right, but when it’s not, it goes sort of like this;
They often say, writing a blog post is like that about-to-be outdated meat in the back of the fridge (pooling blood water on the shelf, optional); you want to eat it before it goes full-rancid, but your brain is telling you it already is, so you shamefully, and Imodium-free for the immediate future, dump it down the In-Sinker-Ator and let it go to wherever the hell rancid, and potentially rancid meats dumped down drains go; I’m assuming Florida. I digress.
I knocked out my 25-mile hiking goal in 5 days this week, which works perfectly for me in multiple ways;
Those are all good things, but as most outdoor endurnace-ish athletes know, it can be easier said than done.
Last week was a fine week of lumbering, and after Saturday’s early morning hike and my weekly goal met, I took Sunday off to rest and creep around Meridian Park looking for critters.
It doesn’t happen often, but I am currently at a loss for words.
Sure, I could bask in recent events like the death of long-time right-wing religious fuck face Pat Robertson or the O.G. Fuck Face being arrested for the 2nd time and counting for being arguably the worst person in the history of U.S. politics to ever be elected to anything, ever, and probably will be again. But I got nothing.
I’m glad one is dead, and I hope the other eventually rots in prison like a fat, bloated, racist, homophobic, xenophobic wife cheating, too-tan scrotal sack with bad hair, a raging case of megalomania and tepid piss stains on his orange jumpsuit left over from the previous night’s Piss On Donny cellblock fetish party.
But I won’t do any of that. I’ll just post some photos.
Later.
As the old saying goes, 37.8 miles forward, 1 step back. Or something like that.
I’m back! But sadly, I was never really gone.
The last post was me patting myself on the back for showing modest signs of normal human mental and emotional growth, along with realizing that I needed to give my right foot a break and attempt to recover from some ongoing plantar fasciitis.
