Monday, July 16, 2012

We Sang Our Hearts Out.

Stage 15 - Samatan to Pau.

Ok, ok, that was some laziness right there, both in terms of content and metaphor. But as you can see, yesterday was kinda rough. I'm back at school now, and turning up to the first day on next to no sleep, even less food and absolutely no preparation whatsoever wasn't the best of ideas. The only blessing was that due to working in a specialist setting I didn't actually have to teach any students, just run a couple of meetings. On the way home from one of those meetings - in Mill Park - I started to wonder about my ability to operate a motor vehicle. Heading back along Plenty Road my eyes kept shutting on me, blinks that lasted just a little too long. Eventually I pulled into Bundoora Park and crawled into the back seat, falling fast asleep for a little over half an hour. When I returned my boss noted that it had been a particularly long meeting. I agreed.

I napped again when I got home, but it still wasn't enough. Jamesy seemed in a similar mood. Billy Bragg was on the stereo. It was a bad scene. We needed, as I told facebook, a decent cup of tea and some PMA. So we invited Sime over and put on the kettle. Things were on the up and up. Sleep deprived I always end up looking for symbols when there are none, and got stuck on the Irish Breakfast I was about to sip away. This lead to Requiem for the Croppies, and a lazy bow drawn between BMC / Liquidgas attempting the impossible as the Irish before them had done, trying to take down the English behemoth far advanced in both number and technology. The more I thought about it today, however, the more I liked it. Cadel has been creative in his attacks, has drawn together unlikely alliances, has retreated to the hedges when necessary. But, like the rebels before him, when it comes to a hill the oppressors have him covered.

When Sime arrived I was in my bedroom talking to Sarah K on Skype. We weren't really talking about too much, just chatting in the way that old friends do. It was 9.30am in Newfoundland and she had just woken up. I could see the summer sun pouring in through her window, bright white glare in the corner of the screen, and I start to regret not going to visit her. When I come out of the bedroom, however, all of those regrets disappear. He's chatting to James about nothing in particular, it's equal parts hilarious and ridiculous, and I'm reminded that this is what my time off has been like: hanging out with some of the best people in the world, sitting around talking shit, enjoying the hell out of this life, life like a song, like a movie, like a TV series that you love and don't ever want to end. Life that you don't need to take a holiday from.

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