BRISBANE, ALMOST SPRING, 2014 I seem to do a lot of apologising on this blog lately — here’s your latest serving. Sorry about the unforgivable delay in posting, sorry about taking so long to reply to some comments, sorry for not looking at any other blogs in way, way too long, and sorry for the glum tone I can already feel saturating this post. Damn it, sorry for all the self-pity, too! Anyway, what can I say, it’s a long story. But blogging’s all about the short story and the ever-shortening attention span, so I’ll keep it brief and let the pictures do the whining. I’m back home — I mean, my original home — I mean, the one before New York but after Australia, Japan, Korea and Switzerland. The home town and the one I kinda love, still, even though I really don’t wanna be here right now. Advertisements
A few weeks ago I got up early one morning, turned on my GPS, stuck it in my pocket, and went about my business. When I slumped back indoors sometime after dusk, barely able to stand upright, I had done exactly seven miles of business — all of them in the yard here.
Somewhere over the mid-Pacific I swapped my camo hunting cap (found dangling on a tree in Pennsylvania while hiking the A.T.) for a beanie, arranged my flimsy, handkerchief-sized blankie and folded myself into an approximation of sleep. I always book a window seat when I can to avoid contact with fellow passengers, and refrain from bathroom trips if possible, a challenge that passes the time while building self-control and Olympic-standard bladder endurance. I managed 12 hours on this trip, I’m proud to say. Just limit your free drinks to a single gin and tonic and try not to look at the ocean.