Listen, if you are going to be pedantic about whether it is a campfire or just a grill then you can make like a tree and get mulched. The point is to be witty and have some photo that loosely resembles the topic at hand, ok?
Cough cough … now, as I complete the fourth day of what some may call a cleanse and others label a prolongation of the inevitable cold grasp of the Grim Reaper and certain death, I grow contemplative sitting round my sizzling hot wienies on the fire (see???? direct reference to the pic! goal accomplished). Whilst residing in my accommodation in Purgatory, which is located squarely in that overly-lengthy state of “WTF am I going to do in life now?”, I cannot help but throw out ideas as a monkey does faeces. I would say that it is within this position in life that I tend to come up with a variety of nuggets that occasionally stick to the sides of the bowl.
Before getting into a long-mulled over thought rattling round in my skull, I again wish to exclaim my distaste of not having sufficient employment as of late to live the life I desire. I am having to borrow, sell off and just get by many days. Not the grand path I wished to walk upon, but such is the world.
Yes, I COULD go back to teaching, but as I am rather fond of stating: “I would rather live under a bridge giving BJs to long-haul truckers than stand in front of a class on a daily basis again.” And with someone with this strength of hatred for the job, would you want me teaching you or your children? I thought not. This is not about “biting the bullet” … I cannot stress how fully and completely I despise the idea of being an English teacher again. Scrubbing toilets in a condemned Indian vindaloo-only restaurant located next to a sewage processing plant with leaky pipes would be more sought after. Do you get my point yet?
But am I being lackadaisical or downright, lazy? Not particularly. I will be honest in saying that maybe about 5% or just a smidge more relates to this, with another 15-20% of me just enjoying the down time after two years of either working my nails to the quick or struggling with my thoughts of how I was going to off myself in a creative yet poetic manner that would be written about through the ages and immortalised in song.
I may also have mentioned here and there that constructing the tiny house was part of the saving grace that got me through the murky sewage of depression, with the other portion made up of the realisation that my most recent former wife (another story) was actually a pure and utter (insert word that the Scots love to use in generous measure and begins with a ‘c’) of the highest order. When you finally have a goal and learn that you were not as much the monster you were portrayed to be, depression tends to slide away at a more rapid rate than previously expected!
Ok, I DO also have to give credit where due to the antidepressants and the good friends I surrounded myself with when needed. I am eternally grateful.
So when you come through all this churning darkness of despair and begin to feel competent and worthwhile again, ideas start to flow as quickly as a customer’s bowels after a night at the previously-mentioned Indian restaurant. And the one that continuously returns again and again like clogged intestines to a professional cheese taster (I am positive these folk actually exist) is embarking upon the over 2 000 kilometre hike round the entire Czech Republic that clasped an iron-like grip upon me many years back.
I love hiking long distance, with two treks in Turkey and one in Scotland under my belt. Don’t misunderstand me, I am not the type that does these trips to push my limits, show my endurance or be a completionist. They are fun, I love the scenery and new places, cultures and food. If a stretch of path is boring or there is too much pavement or roadway, I will skip it like a warm squid sandwich on a hot summer day in the middle of the Sahara. I just like it and want to continue to like it, not to say I personally set foot on every centimetre of the path like an egomaniacal world leader needing to prove my mushroom penis is not as minute as has been claimed to be.
And since I am stuck waiting with uncertainty for a new residency card, I do not really have a lot of work that requires me to be in one location all the time (I can proofread documents on a tablet … and there has been no voiceover work in about a month now), and since I am already living on scraps (mild exaggeration) … well, why not budget myself further, strap on the rucksack, fill up on pasta and beans and hit the trails, eh? There are projects in the pipeline (that I hope to all hell come through) towards the end of summer, but at present, one thumb is firmly lodged up my back side, emails released into the ether begging for employment remain unanswered and side projects, though enjoyable and learning experiences, are not stuffing my icebox with fresh perishables for consumption.
It goes without saying that I shall bring my camera, my unbreakable perception of the world round me and my stunning and exquisite sense of humour in the hopes that these observations and presentations will entertain you along the way, show you something new, bring a smile to your faces and … oh if only … lead me into the wider view of those that appreciate what I do and want to give this po’ white boy a job in a field he is good at or help me reach a point of being self-supportive enough to do this all independently.
If not … then I get another amazing memory that no one can take away from me, along with a tad more experience in how to take care of myself in whatever situation this strange yet fascinating world decides to throw at me … and probably a case of chaffed crotch and foot blisters, too.
