Sheridan’s Blog

On the back of persistent nagging, here is the story of the past few months.

In opening, I’d like to say that it’s Winter and that season is not particularly conducive to writing. In fact, it’s not conducive to many things, including cycling. I do cycle, but not in the wind. Or rain. Or if it’s really cold (I lose feeling in my fingers and cannot operate the brake. Or steer. Or see, really). I do cycle on clear, sunny days. And always towards coffee shops.
After having a few cold months to consider things, I have jumped the chasm from recreational cyclist to a cyclist who is purely recreational but wants to look pro. And I have plenty of people close by to show me exactly how this is done. Recently I have installed ‘captivity’ pedals. (Of course I didn’t put them on, I had someone else do it. I’m only a recreational mechanic and my skills are reflected in my status). These pedals are stupidly also referred to as ‘clipless’ pedals. I read the supposed background of why this is and it remains stupid. So I got some shoes to facilitate these ‘pedals’ and the shoes are actually ok. Although not designed for walking, I might prefer these on a stroll down a dark alleyway late at night due to the damage I could inflict if attacked. Especially from below.
The funny thing about these pedals is learning to use them. It’s all well and good to go out on a quiet stretch of road and clip in and out, do a few corners, etc. No one ever falls off doing that (except for me that time in the garage but that’s a path we’ve already been down). It’s always the unexpected occurrences that will get you in the end. For example, a bike pulls up beside you and scares you and you fall over, even when you were completely stationery. Or due to some neural defect you go to put your foot down at a stop and have unclipped the wrong foot. Or (and more likely), whilst trying to get the second foot to clip in, you look down (because that helps…) and accidentally ride into a tree. Or a Ford Falcon. Neither is real good. Mentally, the stress of the situation has not been lost on me, and I have spent many an anxious hour (mainly in the dead of the night) fantasizing about not falling off, or fantasizing about falling off onto a nice patch of thick grass at very low speed with no bystanders in sight. Or, falling off gracefully like a feather at low speed and with a great hairstyle and flattering outfit into the awaiting arms of Fabian Cancellara.

When I am not thinking about the above, I sit in front of my physiology textbooks and try to work out matters of the heart. I completely understand now why it takes so long to be a medical doctor. The stuff they have to (or should) know – it’s just incredible. And it’s not like they get to practice on real humans – the first time they do, for example, open-heart surgery, is the FIRST TIME they have actually done it. I suppose they get to cut up animals and occasionally see a few deceased humans whose bodies have thankfully been left for the good of education. But think about it – there comes a time when a surgeon has to make his or her first incision on a human body – who wants to be that body? Compare this to another relatively-important job – commercial airline pilot. These people quite literally have the lives of their passengers in their hands. Do you think they get the work experience guys up there in the A300 (or whatever it is these days)? Of course not! The guy flying the mega planes with the good tv’s in the back of the seats is normally someone who started out at the tiny airfield with maybe a kite or perhaps a helium balloon. From then on, it’s a slow graduation from small craft to maybe short domestic routes and if they’re lucky, maybe international, long-haul. The point is – the pilot gets practice before the real deal. They get to learn all about the planes. They can play with the planes and look at all the parts. They consider physics (hopefully, depending on the airline…). But these medical guys, they read about it, talk about it and then just do it. Logistically, (ethically, morally, reasonably) you cannot study the human heart directly. Sure, you can take pictures and even see the effects of the heart indirectly. But how much more could be learned if you could just get one out and watch it perform? Of course that’s not possible (I have gleaned some things from the books). But with each training session I do, and whenever I stand up from a seated position, or when I get a small fright or even when I feel cold, all I can think about is what my heart is doing at that exact time. This is quite annoying because at night, when I’m just laying there with nothing better to do, I’m thinking about what my heart is doing, and for some strange reason I’m trying to go through its motions in real time. Which is difficult, mainly because it’s going so bloody fast from stressing about falling off my bike. I’ll be glad when the cardiovascular unit is over. It’s almost as bad as the bioenergetics unit. I’d almost convinced myself I could actually feel a molecule of pyruvic acid converting to acetyl-CoA.

Times are changing a bit for me at the moment, so on the way home tonight on the train I thought I’d just skim the horoscopes, just to see if they shed any light on what to do next. The first few sentences were just nonsense and I discarded them instantly. But the last sentence has stayed with me and confirms that stars are really just bullshit. It said:

‘Your health and fitness needs attention’

I DON’T THINK SO!!

I mean, seriously, there’s nothing more suitable for the definition of complete inaccuracy than that sentence. I threw the paper in the bin. Just what I needed, too, since I planned to go home and demolish half a block of Top Deck.

So…I sit here doing what I can to avoid essay-writing. I’ve just been in the spare room knocking out Crowded House’s ‘Better be Home Soon’ on the piano (which was partially obscured under all of the bicycles) and gym gear (from my health and fitness obsession). So now I will go and procrastinate for a few more minutes before I come back and do some work. It hardly seems fair – I’ve been at work all day.

Easter is here and the supermarkets are crowded with idiots. I have enough chocolate supplies to last so I should be ok. In terms of local news, there is only so much, most of which can be expressed in dot points:

-I hurt my arm trying to be a swim hero. Who saw that coming? Who knew you use your arm for so many things? I have a guy who’s sorting it all out, hopefully. Either way, we have a very nice chat and I get to leave work for half an hour. It’s a win-win.

-Missed the last triathlon due to above. Now I have to wait nearly a year to go again. Plenty of training time to knock off that bitch at the top of the pack. (I’m coming for you.)

-Work continues. I am having loyalty issues with the various coffee distributors in the region, and have boycotted the coffee machine at work.**

-New bike needs shoes and pedals. I found some really ace shoes called ‘The Dominator’ or similar. Possibly not made anymore, but I will seek out shoes with a cool-sounding name. It’ll remind me how cool I really am as I lay in the gutter after one of probably many stationary falls.

-Uni goes on. Many assessment tasks looming. Mounds of paperwork in various rooms of the house. I’m having a fun time in class as we have cool tutors who do strange things and can somehow back them up with science. I’m fascinated.

-The gym is still there. I go to it often (like a secret lover of sorts). Swimming, in particular, has completely annihilated any body-related inhibitions I used to have. I have no problem getting my kit off. (Just so there isn’t a rush at the gym, I don’t swim completely naked. Just to clarify).

-I’m not sure what to do next. Moving house is on the cards. It’s a bit pricey here and I want to do something else with my money. I spend only a little time here. If the university gods allow, I may take a side-step next year into a different course. Or I might run off to Peru with a goat-herdsman’s son. Who knows?

** Disclaimer – Ms Brown appreciates the value of place of employment’s coffee machine and extols it’s virtues daily. She will not, however, suckle at it’s milky teat. Ever.

From the last post it would be easy to assume we went to NZ and just rode a bike down a hill. Which is only partly true.
Back in 2008 when we went to NZ for the first time, we were lucky enough to go on a wine tour so ace that we ended up buying some wine and quite a bit of cheese to bring home. They’ve really got the good stuff over there. Anyhow, we ended up leaving the cheese in the hotel fridge, never to be seen again. This was particularly sad for Tim, who loves cheese just as much as any other vegetarian. (That sentence made little sense, possibly due to lack of cheese in my diet).
Just recently, we revisited the Gibbston Valley winery and cheesery, taking many a tasting and again purchasing some of their wares to bring home. This place is just fantastic and the food is also ace in their restaurant. We also visited another favourite, Amisfield, who do the best bubbles you can buy. And you can afford to buy quite a bit because it’s ridiculously affordable. So we did just that.
Well – we got the wine home ok. No problems there, since I had been hoarding it around and protecting it like a mother might a newborn. On the plane we were busily filling in our landing cards and deciding whether domesticated horses are considered ‘farm animals’ or not, when we asked each other who had the cheese (and thus who had to declare it). He thought I had it, I thought he had it. Realistically neither of us had it. As such, I had filled out my stupid landing card to say I had to declare food and I had nothing to declare. That was awkward trying to explain to the guy at the airport:
GUY AT AIRPORT: (looks at my card) ‘Do you have any food with you from NZ?’
ME: ‘No – I thought I did but I don’t. Do you realise how hard it is to get cheese out of NZ???’
GUY AT AIRPORT: (totally ignores previous comment and begins going on about shoes and horses and the like). ‘You can go’.
After this experience I have been forced to ask: why is it so hard to get cheese out of New Zealand? Does the cheese not want to leave? I couldn’t even tell you where we left the cheese. It just kind of vanished in the night. Mark my words – we will go back there and we will get the cheeses and bring them to Australia. I will not be beaten by magical cheese.
As a final note, it’s horrible being back at work.

After deciding it was too expensive to go to Europe again this year (that’ll be 2011, then), I decided NZ might be an idea for a short break. Tim was already attending a computer-nerd-type conference in Wellington so I decided to head to Chrstchurch and meet up with him in Queenstown.
There is not a shortage of things to do in Queenstown. You can jump off, out of, through, into and over all kinds of stuff. We sat in the hotel sifting through hundreds of brochures trying to find something to fill in our time. Since I find death and permanent injury unappealing, I am somewhat limited in the activities I employ to entertain me, particularly in Queenstown. Most of the heavily-advertised options involve a distinct chance of death so these were avoided. I happen to believe that jumping out of a plane (a plane at a high altitude, not one sitting on the tarmac) flies in the face of human nature. As does jumping off a cliff or bridge with only elastic tied to your feet. What kind of idiots do these things?
However, since my last visit to town there is a hint of revolution in the air. Someone has upped the ante, so to speak, by making extreme activites more extreme: whatever activity you wish to do, someone, somehow can insert a helicopter into the equation. Want to go to breakfast? Sure thing – a helicopter will hover over the cafe and you can rapel down and eat. Can’t be bothered climbing that big hill with your own leg power? No problems – a pilot will chopper you up so you can get the gondola down. No energy expenditure required. It sounds ridiculous and it is. But the best one we came across (which did sound kind of ace) was the heli-hunting. This is for the really lazy people who also like guns. A helicopter will fly you onto private land where you can shoot at an animal of your choosing. YOU DON’T EVEN NEED TO GET OUT OF THE HELICOPTER! I await the heli-horsing, where you rapel down from the chopper to horseback (perhaps with a gun or something else remotely cool) and ride on to a winery or something. Perhaps in 2011…
By far the best activity we came across was the downhill mountain biking. Having basically designated mountain bike riders to a group of baggy-short wearing, hairly-legged monsters who can speak only a phrase or two of English (or any language) I wasn’t that keen. And after seeing a few of these clowns out around the place, throwing themselves down hills, I was pretty sure I was going to: a) be really bad at it; and b) possibly sustain serious injuries. I resisted the urge to upgrade my health insurance. The night before the ride I dreamt I had been provided with a track bike (no brakes, no gears) for the ride. Suffice to say I was terrified to my very core.
Yet strangely it was actually really, really, good. Mainly due to the high-quality guide, Mark (who was hot, by the way, in an outdoorsy, flowy kind of fashion). Or maybe I just though he was since it was his advice that was basically preventing me from riding off a cliff (and possibly into a nearby hovering helicopter). It all began innocently enough with a short ride in the minibus out to the mountain. The cool part is that you don’t have to ride up to the summit. How ace it is to have someone drop you off at the top. The guide handed me my bike, which I struggled to hold up due to it’s sheer enormity. Then I tried to ride it, which made me look like a complete muppet. And then we rode off a cliff. After the initial horror of riding down a steep embankment the terror continued. In the early stages I was ready to give up, and I probably would have if the bike hadn’t been so bloody heavy and cumbersome to get on and off of. But after mild coaxing (and less mild peer pressure) I took my hands slightly off the brakes and the bike rolled away with me still on it. These bikes are amazing – they will roll over anything. I’d be disappointed if I couldn’t roll right over a 4WD on one of these. It’s pretty painful for the first few minutes as the thighs adjust to being in a static standing position for a long time, but they soon go numb. The first run down the hill took about 40 minutes and the next was half that time. By the end I was up for another run down the hill and kind of wishing we’d not left it until the last day in town to try this out. I suspect if we hadn’t, a lot of $$ and time may have been spent at Vertigo. These guys will even chopper you to the top of a hill and then let you ride down. And, for a nominated fee, they can also organise the helicopter transport to the hospital, if required. Is there nothing that cannot be made better with the addition of a helicopter???? We will definitely be visiting Vertigo again.
Now, after getting home, eating breakfast, visiting the local bike store and unpacking (in that order), we are plotting when we might be able to do this again. I am also researching to see if there are some new mountain biking words I can slide into my vocabulary, or perhaps some hand signals or something. If you have any suggestions, feel free to forward them along and I’ll try them out. Now I have to have a nap since early morning flights from Christchurch to Melbourne allegedly make me snappy.

In between googling for the recipe for brandy snaps (which I couldn’t remember the name of, which of course makes it much harder to google for) and watching consecutive episodes of Ugly Betty, I thought I’d wander in here and see what was happening.
Evidently not much.
The other week I did something I’ve always wanted to do. I did a triathlon. A very small one. The smallest there is. But let me tell you – even though it equated to only about half an hour of exercise, it was a half an hour of frantic, gut-wrenching, puffing, heart-pumping activity. Where else do you work at that level for that amount of time? You don’t.
The thing that appeals to me about this kind of activity is the variety. I bore quickly and easily. I’d rather sit for half an hour and eat corn chips on the couch than run for half an hour. But if you ask me to do a few things, all of which are relatively short, I can handle that. I might eve wish to excel at it.
Triathlon seems to also appeal to my competitive nature. I was a bit of a fatty as a kid, and this kind of activity gives me a chance to compete at a level I feel comfortable at. Who can put their runners on the quickest? Who can identify their bicycle amongst 3000 others? Who looks hottest running out of the ocean? I can do all of these things, and do them well. I think you’ll find that I am mega-quick at getting my shoes on. I can also take clothes off quickly, which helps in triathlons too. It’s like someone invented the sport for me. It really is almost a women’s sport on account of all the clothes/shoes changing that goes on. I wouldn’t be surprised if they put up one of those tents (like at the races) where you can go and fix your make-up, etc, as a transition. As the sport evolves, who knows…
So off I go in this mini event (which features young children, old people and more rotund people) thinking I will just blend into the crowd. Upon arriving at the water’s edge, I am filled with two feelings: dread and terror. I have swum lap upon lap upon lap in the pool and have even done a little in the bay. In fact, in Thailand I would happily jump off the edge of a boat from which land was not visible. On my own. However, there are no waves in Thailand and the water is beautiful and clear and doesn’t taste like the sewer. It is not the same experience here. The horn goes and we move off into the water. I am running. I’m still running. I keep on running and I am getting pretty close to the turning buoy and I’m still running. Eventually the sand under my feet goes away and I try swimming. This is pretty much the point at which I stop trying to swim and start trying to stay afloat and not get kicked in the head. I continue this way until the sand comes back and then I start running. I am at the back of the field. I reckon I would have drowned the people (person) behind me just so I wasn’t last out of the water. But I didn’t have time so I just got out and tried to run, which is hard when you can’t feel your legs. But people are cheering and it’d be poor form to let them down so off I go. Miraculously, I find my bike immediately, put my helmet on and then try to put my shoes on. This is hard. And I remember being amused by this as I have put shoes on most days of my life and it should be simpler. I think I nearly laughed at my lack of balance and general coordination. It was like my arms and legs were from separate bodies that spoke different languages and/or had never met. But I got my shoes on and took my bike off towards the exit. There were people going everywhere. I am fairly tall and imposing and people generally move out of my way in the street (and I push the ones that don’t), and the story was no different in this sporting situation. I avoided the bike-mounting tricks I had practiced. There were a lot of people at the mount line and from experience I understand that this is where you are most likely to see some incredible falls and general carnage. So I just got on the regular way.
Realising that the swim leg cost me a lot of time, it was my ambition to hunt down the rest of my group. Not being able to identify them made that difficult, so I just set a goal to overtake everyone in front of me. And I did, except for one person who clearly possessed superhuman powers. Consequently, I made up loads of places during the ride. It was nice to ride on a big wide road with no traffic and not have to stop at lights, etc. I really enjoyed it. But then I had to get off (again in the traditional manner) and get ready to run.
Putting the bike back was simple. I was riding in my runners (it’s only 8km – why would you not?) so I ditched the bike and helmet and put my hat on and ran off again. This transition cost the ‘pros’ a lot of time and I again made up places, just for being such a novice. Running is supposed to be sheer murder after the ride. I didn’t find it so. But I had done a lot of riding and then running straight after so my body seemed ok with it. I was, however, trashed.
I came in 27th (of a field of around 77) and am pretty happy with that. It seems clear that I need to be able to swim better. I have been working on that in the ocean and pool in anticipation for the next race.
Anyway – it was heaps of fun and the opportunities to wear brightly-coloured lycra and one-piece body suits are so abundant that it seems silly not to go on. I am looking for variations to the triathlon theme, and have so far grouped up the housework in an attempt to make it more fun (and quicker).

Is it wrong to go to the gym on the non-training day/s? Or, just how wrong is it to go to the gym on a non-training day? I’m supposed to be ‘resting’, but ‘resting’ is not as cool as everyone seems to make it out to be. I’m so bored of resting – what do people think I do all day at work? It’s hardly stressful.
So I have time to be in here… writing things.

The other day one of my home-grown tomato plants appeared to have a small tomato growing on it. It’s still there and I’m taking extra special care (ie – watering the plant) to make sure I can eat this tomato. Hopefully more will grow. I’m pretty impressed with myself. The other plants have not gone quite so well. They are dead. I blame that spell of very hot weather we had. It was too hot to go outside and water them. I would have perished.

I went back into the ocean last night on the way home from work. It seemed like a nice enough day until I got to the beach, when it turned dark and stormy-looking. And windy. I had a look around and there was no-one in the water (apart from a cargo ship a good few miles out). I stood there and assessed the situation. Who drives all the way to the beach only to stand there looking at the water? I certainly don’t. I go there, stand and look at the water for 10 minutes, get changed, go in up to my hips and then get out 3 minutes later. I wasn’t impressed with my lame effort so I decided to go for a small jog. In the meantime, some other person of unparalleled bravery had gone in for a swim so I decided to swim near them (I hear swimming on your own in the ocean is a no-no). So it wasn’t a complete waste of time.

So now I sit here, looking out the window (the same window through which a masturbating man could be seen on Sunday morning), wondering if I’ll get through that block of Cadbury’s Top Deck tonight or if it will be tomorrow night. And – masturbating man – if you happen to be reading this – go away – next time there may be legal consequences. Maybe I’ll go do some stretching…

Ok, fastest post ever since I’m meant to be doing something else (no – I am not at work). Here’s a synopsis:

#1. Had my hair cut off. And dyed back to it’s ‘natural’ colour, or something similar to that. See #3.
#2. Entered mini triathlon. Supposed to be fun. Turning into a nightmare. See #4.
#3. Doing lots of swimming and exercise (due to #2). Blonde hair going green in the pool and generally being a nuisance (and attracting a lot of unwanted attention elsewhere). Long hair getting in the way of looking sporty.
#4. Limbs practically falling off and muscles snapping like old rubber bands from rigorous training. Plus, personal trainer ‘conveniently’ did his Achilles and has been unavailable for guidance. Physiotherapist relaying what can only be described as triathlon horror stories whilst looking generally evil. Trying to find appropriate AND cool-looking tri gear to wear is impossible. Who designs this stuff?
#5. Have nasty rash from moisturising product and cannot stop scratching.
#6. One tomato plant has actually produced a tomato. Most other plants have not gone so well.
#7. Should go and have a shower now. Work Christmas party tonight. Have great dress with which to complement ulcerated legs. It’s going to be a great night.

Monday’s are hard, aren’t they? Even though it’s Tuesday today, I’m still reeling from yesterday, which was Monday. In fact it’s entirely possible I’m still showing the effects of last Monday.
Things aren’t going as they should. First of all, it’s hot. I have air-con but I seem to spend a bit of time walking to and from places (outside, not just walking from the couch to the fridge in the apartment). And when I get to these places I am sweaty. It’s one thing to go to the gym and walk out glistening and dripping. It’s another thing completely to wander into work in a uniform which looks as if you swam there. I haven’t ridden to work in a while since I have to factor in shower (and blowdrying) time which effectively means I only get halfway home before I have to turn around and go back in for the next day’s work. And have you tried sleeping in the heat? It’s difficult. I’m considering dragging the bed out into the air-conditioned area until it cools down a bit. Of course, the coolest time of day is normally between 6 and 7am. Which is typically when I get up to go to the gym or work. So it gets to 9am and I’ve drunk about 4 coffees and am seriously considering heading back over to the coffee place (the one on Albert St) and ordering an additional coffee and asking them politely if they’ve switched to decaf or something. Still tastes good but it’s no longer working.
The benefits, however, of a bit of sun have been revealed on my arms and legs, which are now a golden tan. Many thanks to Around the Bay and random Capital City trail rides for helping me out in this area.

I have been doing a bit of training for some kind of miniature triathlon. God knows why. I seem drawn to the idea, possibly because I enjoy variety and dislike doing the same activity relentlessly. Oddly enough, all I seem to be doing is trying to swim, or trying not to drown, rather. Swimming is odd. I’m putting in a lot of energy and concentrating really hard yet barely moving. It’s a really strange activity because of this. I’m taking tips (from likely invalid internet sources) and this seems to be helping.
I must be working hard because mentally I am deficient (that came out wrong). It seems by the time I get to work (or anywhere I need to concentrate) I am completely exhausted and incapable of saying or doing anything of use. And I’m losing a lot of stuff lately. The other week it was my heart-rate monitor watch, which has since been found (not by me). And just this week I have lost my gym card. This is doubly upsetting in that I had just reassured myself that I haven’t lost my marbles from the watch losing scenario and now I lose another important item. I can easily get another one but that’s hardly the point. They know me at the gym since I practically live there, but it’s having to acknowledge that I put it down somewhere and for some reason forgot to pick it back up. I have been ranting about this for days and the only way to find the card is to organise a new one. I’ll do it on Monday. Stay tuned for me finding the old one on Tuesday.

After working all year and sitting through a full complement of exams, there’s nothing more relaxing than a leisurely cycle down (or up) the coast with a few thousand others, is there? That’s what I decided to do anyhow. The ride actually can take on a few formats, be it a 250km marathon or a more reasonable 100km jaunt. I opted for the 100km, which is probably enough for me, although it’s just the day after and whilst I am a bit weary, I’m not sore, nor do I have any muscular aches. Yet. Then again, I wasn’t really going for it since it’s not a race and I was looking for an enjoyable day, not 2 weeks of recovery.
A few things struck me during the day (not literally). One was that cycling seems to be a man’s sport. I didn’t see many other women. There were the few here and there, all riding along on their own. It’s kind of lonely. But then again, if the guys were around I imagine they’d want to turn it into a competition. Oddly, they are mysteriously absent from the ‘cleaning up the kitchen’ and ‘wiping down the stovetop’ competitions. I suppose I wouldn’t enter a contest I couldn’t win either. So cyclists are generally male. This was also evident by the lack of queue when I went to the toilet. You’d think with an event of this magnitude (15-16 thousand in total) that there’d be a massive snake-like queue for the ladies. There wasn’t. I walked right past the 12-deep queue of men and into the toilets. It was phenomenal. It’s worth taking part in male-dominated sport for this alone. Awesome.
Another thing that occurred to me (since I had a lot of time to myself to think) was that I found myself comparing my bike with everyone who went past. Is this natural? I mean, I’m no fool – I realise that a good bike does not make a good cyclist any more than standing in a garage makes you a car. Yet I was unable to stop the comparing. And I don’t think it was only me. Perhaps I am easily fooled into believing that something good-looking is actually good. Studies show that at an elite level equipment is sometimes the difference between winning and losing. I guess having nice things makes average people feel extraordinary. The theory works with nice shoes, anyway. Consequently I will need a new bike shortly to make up for my lack of riding ability.
Other aspects of interest include the scenery. I should really be an ambassador for Victoria and talk of the calm waters of Sorrento and the gentle slopes along the way, etc. But I cannot. I was bored by the scenery, which is a very good thing in cycling because it means there are probably no hills. Maybe it’s hard to be overcome with the natural beauty of the land when it is littered with so much fluorescent man-made fibre. To be honest, I found the riding in and around the city much more exciting. Might be the adrenaline rush from darting in and out between moving vehicles that has something to do with it. It’s also a bit of variety – you get to steer and brake and stuff. I even turned my light on for a while there. And, to top it all off, on the way home I was going for it (fully) up a steep embankment and yelling encouragement (to myself, very loudly) and I failed to see the other, more professionally-behaved cyclist coming the other way. He got a bit of a laugh out of it anyway. Just goes to show – you can still have a nice bike and be a complete idiot.

In other unrelated news, I have finished my exams and expect the results to be quite good. Don’t let me down, university. I woke up this morning and was forced to just lay there since I had nothing else to do. I felt so common. I quickly need to fill the abyss before I become complacent. I have been toying with the idea of resuming dance classes of some kind. This will probably happen.
I am also enjoying using the shredder at work. Nothing soothes me more than feeding documents into it’s jaws. But that’s a story for another time. I’m off to water my tomatoes.