It’s Wednesday morning (just shy of five o’clock this time), and I’ll begin this blog post by apologizing to anyone who has been reading my near-daily posts, and was expecting a blog post yesterday, and was worried about me when none arrived*.
I’m afraid that either something I ate Monday, or perhaps the side effects of a rather gooney bug bite or sting that I got on my left forearm and that had swelled quite a bit (or both things, perhaps) caused me to have both some tummy trouble and some general agitation and restlessness overnight on Monday, to the extent that I got—I don’t think I’m exaggerating—fewer than twenty minutes’ sleep, and so I was simply exhausted and washed out Tuesday, though thankfully most of the other symptoms had resolved themselves.
It’s a bit frustrating that I felt so bad Monday night, because during the day I did quite a nice job of being reasonably healthy. After walking four and a half miles each on Saturday and Sunday, I walked a total of about eight and a third miles on Monday, with only some very minor blistering between the first two toes of my right foot as side-effects. I think that’s not half bad. I certainly was more than adequately re-hydrated by the end of the day, because I’d been fairly aggressive about that; it was around ninety degrees here for most of the day, and the humidity was at least that high a percentage, so I wanted to make sure not to sabotage myself.
For those of you who may be wondering about the possibility that my extensive walking had been responsible for what happened Monday night, I can only say that I have considered that possibility and think it unlikely. The symptoms were not typical of those that I’ve had previously after overexerting myself; indeed, in those types of circumstances I tend to get tired and sleepy, not tense and jittery and belly-achey.
If anything, I felt particularly healthy once I arrived at the house and got hydrated. It was distantly akin to the runner’s high I used to get when I was able to run a lot, though it was less impressive. Whereas the way I felt on Monday night was…well, markedly unpleasant and different from any of those kinds of sensations.
Anyway, that’s passed, and now it’s just a matter of getting beyond the minor blistering, which really only happened because of the increased amount of walking I did, not because of any inherent shoe problems. I think I’ve adjusted for all of those, and certainly I had no shoe/foot difficulties on Saturday or Sunday, which is worth a cheer from me. In a sense, this is me cheering. It’s about as enthusiastic as I get for anything, anymore.
I’ve also got a new backpack that I need to test out to make sure there’s no chafing-related or other adjustments needed (though, to be fair, that’s the sort of thing that can be done as one goes along). It’s pretty neat, though I feel almost disloyal for getting it.
You see, I’ve had the same black Adidas backpack for several years now, using it every workday, and while it’s clearly not brand new—the shoulder straps show that they’ve been used, and are more supple than those of a brand new backpack would be—it’s in terrific shape. The zippers are all perfectly functional, all its interior separations are intact and effective, it has decent water resistance (it’s not waterproof, of course, but it’s not meant to be), and its computer carrying section is in excellent shape. I would recommend it to anyone who was looking for a daily use backpack that is going to see reasonably heavy employment.
Regrettably, it’s no longer available, but this is what it looks like.
Unfortunately, though that backpack is quite roomy and excellent, I fear it doesn’t have enough room to carry all the things I’m planning to bring when I go on a long trek. Those things will not be particularly heavy—I don’t want to make the burden too great and thereby create worse obstacles to my progress—but they may be rather bulky, so it would be good to have enough space to work with.
Of course, through all of this, whatever I end up doing, whether on this blog or through any high-risk undertaking I mean to take under, I hope to find either a new desire to live—which I don’t have now—or to die trying to find it. I’m fully aware, though, that I might achieve the ironic outcome of learning to want to live again…and then dying right after that. This would in some ways be a shame, but in some ways, it would also be fucking hilarious.
In any case, it would be better than my current daily internal experience, which is one of quiet** disintegration, disorientation***, anhedonia, isolation, neurodivergence (apparently, though I suppose that has always been there if it’s there), and above all, a profound and persistent and occasionally violent self-loathing. It would be worth the irony of dying right after learning to love and desire life, just to have achieved that love and desire even for a moment.
Of course, I don’t honestly think that’s likely. I will probably never again have any serious intellectual attachment to my life****, and I doubt that I will ever again feel any real joy in existing, but past performance is no guarantee of future results, as all those investment firms are forced, by law, to say, really quickly, right at the end of their ads. I hope to find out if I’m wrong.
*Ha ha. Don’t be silly, right?
**It must be quiet, because it doesn’t seem to disturb other people much.
***Why is that word not “disoriention”? We don’t say “disintegratation”.
****The biological utility functions that drive one to fear death and pain are not easily shut down, unfortunately. But they can be worked around with enough determination and effort.