I went to lake Powell last week, because the best thing to do when unemployed is go on a vacation. I was getting so tired of sitting at home, sweaty in a chair, reading fantasy novel after fantasy novel, eating maybe like a thousand grapes, and 30-70 otterpops. In like a week. I just needed to DO something.
Isn't it weird how whenever you are working like, mostly full time, there always seems to be at least 100 shit that you need to do on your days off? Like seriously...100 shit, every time. There was never enough time on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays for all of the biking, swimming, cooking, vegetable eating, motorcycling, responsible adult things that I wanted/needed to do. But as soon as I lose my job, I'm sitting there naked in my easy chair (because putting on clothing after a shower seemed like the worst idea ever) book in hand, wishing I had something important to do. Wishing someone would give me a task. Like maybe the mail man would knock on my door, and ask me for help re-sorting all of the junk mail that spilled all over my lawn when he tripped over Smokey (the cat lady's outside cat). He wouldn't even care that I was naked, that junk mail needed to be re-sorted so bad. People gotta get their coups.
Wait, I just remembered that such a scenario would be impossible, because Smokey is dead. After 15 years, he just finally succumbed to old age and maybe lung cancer. Although, he probably had less severe lung cancer (as comparable to her other 2-6 inside cats) due to being a mostly outside cat. God rest his little mouse catching soul. I'll sure miss the dead mice in the doorway.
Anyways, so when my friend invited me to go to lake Powell, even though I knew I would in all likelihood be spending 3 days in a sweet bro workshop, I finally felt like I had a task. Like life would be meaningful again. Lake Powell needed me. Which was a totally stupid thought.
So, to lake Powell I went, and boy oh boy, did I ever burn down the meat wagon. I really didn't think about it when I decided to go, just exactly what I was going to eat. Sometimes I forget that people don't eat like I do. There are still dudes in the world who want to eat every hotdog they can. And stuck on a boat, with nothing but Malt-O-Meal cocoa puffs as an alternative, sometimes even the guy who won't eat anything irresponsible breaks down and eats FIVE HAMBURGERS. Nothing ever felt so wrong, but at the same time so right. Especially when one was sandwiched between 2 slices of government texas toast (Walmart's G.V. ((great value)) brand always translates in my mind as "government" whenever I see it) with garlic butter slathered on both sides. The buttery saturated fat juices were literally dripping down my forearms. I guess if you have to fall off the meat wagon, that sure as hell is the way to do it.
I'm back on.
I think I ate more terrible food during those 3 days than I had in all the previous 3 months combined. Which I'm fairly certain caused me to gain no less than 5 lbs. And probably, unfortunately, in my neck/jowl region.
I started grad college yesterday. I feel like this is totally going to mess up a really good thing I had going, which was wearing basically the same 3 or 4 things, over and over again. Which made life really easy. I could get away with this because there are very few people I see more than once or twice a week. So I can wear like, the same pants and shirt 3 days in a row with no fear of social repercussions. And because I'm not a smelly dude. But now, I will be seeing the same people for 3 or more hours a day, every single day of the week. So now I have to come up with at least 5 distinct clothing combos. Which is logistically feasible, since I have no fewer than 20 pairs of jeans, and an assload of shirt that I never wear. I have a problem saying no to sub-$30 bargain jeans.
Anyways, in 6.5 hours I have to wake up and try to figure out what I didn't wear yesterday and the day before. Which may be hard.
Things are foggy for me before 10 am.