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(Now, here's a first: Pissed or no, this entry was swallowed whole by D-Land database... never to be seen again. Here's the second attempt.) Lordy... I'm just a little plastered. I'll never learn. Personal experience dictates: "Eat before indulgence!" But it never happens. All day in the seclusion of the woods. Almost a thousand feet of wilderness tamed to where I can actually drive the tools to where I need to be, rather than three trips of pack-mule effort. Daily diet consisting of one supermarket sandwich (defiled by fat-free ranch dressing) whilst balancing on the least damp fallen timber, lungsful of two-stroke smoke, hands in contact with every color of mold on God's green earth (including the most intense cobalt blue I have ever seen in nature... and I am no mold scholar), and thousands of little briars of all description. The effort manifesting in a pleasant corridor in the jungle of deepest central Virginia. Damn, it's nice to see progress on the landscape. Yet, if I leave it for one season, it will heal itself as if it was untouched by human hands. Depressing to know how temporary is the effect of what we do on the world... good to know that the world can take care of itself. So far. Since I didn't leave the woods 'til seven-thirty, food was not a consideration. Straight home, straight to the shower. Ah, showers... lovely. Instant clean. And warm. Today is Biggles' birthday, so I drove (solo) to CVille for his party (another weekend, another trip for Miss Jane to her daughter's house). Leave it to daft British ex-pats... the cast of characters is always unpredictable, and worth the experience. Among the suspects: Raphael from S�o Paulo. Rockabilly/Boogie Woogie freak. A truly warm human being, sporting the best doo-rag I've seen in a while. Preparing to return home for a few months, so his visa will come back in to effect in time for Viva Las Vegas. A man with a plan. Steve from New Zealand. Down on his luck carpenter/craftsman, going a round with the bottle... but keeping a good grasp on optimism. Andy from the Midlands. Blues afficionado. Loved the dip. Libby, his wife. Local girl, eloquent, musically talented... modelling delightful silver lam� bell-bottoms. Rrrrrrrrrrrr! Bad Boy, Down! When the fashionably late appeared, I decided that the combination of Guinness' and empty stomach would have me reaping in tears the fruits of my labors. So, alone into the night. And here I am. Mostly. Friday, at the radio station... drawing me back for another week. Funny... until I get there, I'm ready to ditch the whole thing. When I leave, it's Adrenaline City. The only down was dinner at the Vietnamese restaurant. Cheap is good. Lacy pink curtains is OK. Rubbery rice paper is not. Whenever eating is more of a chore than nourishment... well, I won't resort to Hot Pockets, but I'm looking for spice, next time. Interesting occurence of the week: Doing chores on Thursday, I was thinking of my old flame from high school... who I only hear from sporadically, though she'll surface with a call every few years or so. She, married since she graduated. A bohemian woman who spoiled me for anyone else. Hours later, I find that her elderly dad passed away this week. I think I'll stay around the phone, tomorrow. Rainy Sundays are good for little else. |
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