
To say I am driving Wifey nuts with worry about me is an understatement. That is not my intention, but that has been the result.

To say I am driving Wifey nuts with worry about me is an understatement. That is not my intention, but that has been the result.

Most of my days since the last post were spent doing more of the same stuff: snowshoeing, Zwift™-ing, making/eating food, drinking beer, watching football, self-loathing, and cursing my existence. The usual.

Other than sleeping, the motivation for “doing stuff”1 has been low. Like, old man testies sort of low. Still, I’ve managed to do what I can with the scraps of motivation I have left in me after a month-long illness, a seriously infected cut on my leg, a self-esteem that’s plunging further and further into the nether regions of my stank anus of a psyche, and a winter that shows no sign of releasing its murderous grip from Michigan’s throat.

Sweet Gabriel Jesus, it took me forever to beat that chest cold, but I finally did it!

With many horses beaten and a few more bishops flogged, I’ve returned with another missal of life calamity.
My ongoing illness—well into its third week—had me returning to the doctor on Wednesday.

I have officially stopped trying to do a post in which I recap my trip to Jamaica. Since our return, I have been sick with the worst chest cold I’ve had in my life, AND I’m on the 2nd round of antibiotics in an attempt to heal my leg that I knocked/cut on a boat ladder in the ocean. In addition to that, Wifey picked up my chest cold, and we have had multiple ice storms that have left mid-Michigan ensconced in ice and frozen snow.

I wanted to do a travelogue about the trip Wifey, and I recently took to Jamaica, sort of like I did for our trip to Paradise, Michigan last summer. But the 7-day vacation was such a whirlwind of fun, rum, buns, and sun, that I now find myself playing mental catch up, trying to figure out what I did, what day I did it, and why I did it.

Tomorrow I am leaving the United States for the first time in my life. I’m happy about that and plan on spending the next seven days far away from any news concerning the pathetic excuse for a President we have in the White House. The less I know about what goes on here, the happier I’ll be.

Wifey and I are going out of the country for the first time ever in a couple of weeks; Jamaica if you must know. Not my first choice for my first time leaping fuck face Trump’s “wall” around the U.S., but it looks like it’s going to be a killer time celebrating our 20th anniversary (1.5 years later) with another couple we’re good friends who are celebrating their 25th. Sun, beach, warm water, rum, and boobs; that’s pretty much all I need to survive. As documented here, I’m a woodsy-type of guy, but there’s something to be said for being a beach sloth. And rum.