We Were Shootin' At a Mound of Dirt
Kinda tired and inspired and lazy and dry.
Maybe I need to change some things. Do an overhaul, mentally, physically, spiritually. Maybe I just need to clean my room. I have so much shit in my room, I hate it. One aspect of happiness, I believe, is simplicity.
I've got the travel bug. It's a sickness that comes and rarely goes. Usually when I go somewhere for a while I'll want to move on somewhere else, but I've never really wanted to come home. I haven't left the continent yet but I've been almost all the way across Canada both ways. In two weeks I'll be in Vancouver and the week after that I'll be in Washington, DC. It's going to be nice to get away and see friends again. The urge to move is one that is ingrained into some people like the human drive to eat or sleep or have sex. Travel is a cleansing experience; to move is to leave the worst of you behind, you're posessions and your position, and to take the best of you with you, your ideas and your experience. Tomorrow I start housesitting for my aunt and uncle. If it's anything like the last time I housesit it's going to be two weeks of beer and frozen foodstuffs and sitting around in any empty house.
Only in Winnipeg does the temperature fluctuate 30 degrees in a matter of twenty-four hours. When things warm up the city turns into one messy slop as the snow melts and reveals the dirt underneath. During winter, gravel, sand and salt gets poured onto the streets and sidewalks to kill the ice and prevent old people from falling and cars from coming crash into one another. Snowbanks become dirt banks and lineups at the carwash curl around the block.
In Mozambique inflation is so bad that things are more expensive at the end of the day than they were in the beginning. Workers get paid daily and run out onto the market and buy whatever they can. It becomes a race to get rid of whatever cash you have. Nobody saves anything. The underground market is huge where people trade straight goods, chickens for bread, AK47s for penicillin.
Dog chased a rabbit onto the river and slipped on the ice and hurt her leg and now Dog can't walk very well. I have to pick her up and carry her to where I am because she gets lonely. Stupid dog. I feel bad.
Limited Exploitation + Seasonal Migration = Long Term Sustainability.
Maybe I need to change some things. Do an overhaul, mentally, physically, spiritually. Maybe I just need to clean my room. I have so much shit in my room, I hate it. One aspect of happiness, I believe, is simplicity.
I've got the travel bug. It's a sickness that comes and rarely goes. Usually when I go somewhere for a while I'll want to move on somewhere else, but I've never really wanted to come home. I haven't left the continent yet but I've been almost all the way across Canada both ways. In two weeks I'll be in Vancouver and the week after that I'll be in Washington, DC. It's going to be nice to get away and see friends again. The urge to move is one that is ingrained into some people like the human drive to eat or sleep or have sex. Travel is a cleansing experience; to move is to leave the worst of you behind, you're posessions and your position, and to take the best of you with you, your ideas and your experience. Tomorrow I start housesitting for my aunt and uncle. If it's anything like the last time I housesit it's going to be two weeks of beer and frozen foodstuffs and sitting around in any empty house.
Only in Winnipeg does the temperature fluctuate 30 degrees in a matter of twenty-four hours. When things warm up the city turns into one messy slop as the snow melts and reveals the dirt underneath. During winter, gravel, sand and salt gets poured onto the streets and sidewalks to kill the ice and prevent old people from falling and cars from coming crash into one another. Snowbanks become dirt banks and lineups at the carwash curl around the block.
In Mozambique inflation is so bad that things are more expensive at the end of the day than they were in the beginning. Workers get paid daily and run out onto the market and buy whatever they can. It becomes a race to get rid of whatever cash you have. Nobody saves anything. The underground market is huge where people trade straight goods, chickens for bread, AK47s for penicillin.
Dog chased a rabbit onto the river and slipped on the ice and hurt her leg and now Dog can't walk very well. I have to pick her up and carry her to where I am because she gets lonely. Stupid dog. I feel bad.
Limited Exploitation + Seasonal Migration = Long Term Sustainability.
posted by James at 8:19 PM
1 Books were burned:
To get the comment page to say something different you have to go to your template scroll down to the comment area. It should say "Comments" and then I just changed the words in the "". I think. I had to fool around with it a little. Good Luck with that. Cheerio.
Throw one on the pile
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