Restless
I don't know about you, but I spent most of January stuck indoors with my flat sealed up against the toxic smoke that enveloped Canberra. I remember at one point standing at my window watching the smoke roll in from the coast as if someone was gently laying down a grey wool blanket from east to west.
The first time the smoke rolled in, I was celebrating NYE with friends, and I'd taken some spare clothes so that I could drink and stay the night. I ended up staying for days as an oxygen refugee. Eventually I mustered the energy to leave, and drove home via Bunnings and Repco to get the supplies I needed to hack an air purifier out of a fan, the cardboard box the fan came in, a roll of lime green masking tape and a car aircon filter. I was pretty proud of the result, so much so that I haven't dismantled it yet; it's sitting in my bedroom performing duties as a 'filterdrobe', lifting my clothes from their usual floordrobe status. It's like a pet. I pat it for good service when it surfaces on washing days.
For a few brief weeks, life went back to normal (say it with me: whatever-that-is), and I was rushing around prepping classes and delivering them at each respective campus.
Now, again, as I said last post, we're all stuck indoors but! with permission to exercise. The rules keep changing daily (I saw four men trying to fix a flat tyre today, which as of last night is an illegal gathering...) but I think we're always going to be able to exercise. I'm not someone who consciously does exercise. However, since we've been ordered to stay put, I've discovered a love of a daily solitary outing. I either go for a long bike ride during the day, or a long walk through the night. Canberra is blessed with excellent suburban cycle paths, cutting through between roads, around parks and under busy thoroughfares. I push my earphones in, choose a playlist, and walk and walk. I have lots of playlists in Spotify, but there's an album always on my phone that is the best music ever to walk to: Temperament, by Everything But The Girl. It was made to a walking beat, and as Tracy walks and sings, so do you. It also holds in its audio memory a time in my life when I needed that album, and it really helped me through some tough times. Listening to it now makes me feel like a survivor.
I just went for a long walk, high on sugar from some godawful icecream that I bought on sale, trying to walk it off so that I can go to bed (it didn't work -- here I am, hours later, blogging until it wears off) and I started seeing things.
Luckily I see kind, quirky things. The suburbs are deserted, I feel safe walking alone, which is a privilege of living in a middle-class area.
EXERCISE DILEMMA: I have one pair of trackie-dacks, and they are that weird grey-brown that black cloth goes after years of washing and neglect. I've worn them once out on my bike, but they just felt wrong. I have no other activewear, so I do all this exercise in jeans and walking boots. Shall I buy some activewear online? The thought of it makes me feel dirty. But I feel like I'm wearing out my jeans too fast. I don't even know if the urge to exercise will last. It might die at the sight of myself in lycra.
The other day I felt like sending a book to a friend, so I researched the postage cost and then looked in my postage-stamp box, which has been sitting neglected for ages. I discovered a heap of Xmas stamps and small-denomination stamps (to make up the shortfall every time they raise the price), and so plastered the envelope with these stamps and rode down to the local postbox and posted it (without actually touching the box).
Today I got this back from her:
The woman at the post office was very excited.
'Are you a stamp collector?' she asked.
'Not in the way you're asking,' I replied.
She went in to a long explanation about how much these stamps would excite a collector, although they wouldn't be worth collecting because they hadn't been franked.
'That's good, I can use them again,' I said. I got a shocked look from her.
'Well, you can try,' she said.
Has she never heard of steam and glue-stick? If the PO are too lazy to frank the actual stamps, it's fair game to keep using them.
Which makes me think... according to this infographic, CV-19 germs only last 24 hours on porous surfaces like paper and cardboard... so posting things is ACE! By the time things get to you, they're safe, especially if you don't pay the extra 50c for premium delivery!
Let's bring back the habit of posting things to each other while we're stuck inside for the duration.
Next time, I'll share what was in the envelope.
BEARD WATCH: Four days, and I have small patches of stiff stubble, about 2mm long. I am fighting the urge to get my tweezers out. I realise that the plucking is less about the look of a hairy chin (although that is a pretty strong motivation) and more about having something to do with my hands. I'm having pluck withdrawal. I even keep tweezers in the door of my car, and I often pluck (by feel) at traffic lights. Luckily I don't have to drive much at the moment. I spend a lot of time stroking my chin. Some of the hairs are white, not that lovely invisible white-blond of Scandinavian maidens, but thick WHITE like old crones. Cackle.
I don't know about you, but I spent most of January stuck indoors with my flat sealed up against the toxic smoke that enveloped Canberra. I remember at one point standing at my window watching the smoke roll in from the coast as if someone was gently laying down a grey wool blanket from east to west.
The first time the smoke rolled in, I was celebrating NYE with friends, and I'd taken some spare clothes so that I could drink and stay the night. I ended up staying for days as an oxygen refugee. Eventually I mustered the energy to leave, and drove home via Bunnings and Repco to get the supplies I needed to hack an air purifier out of a fan, the cardboard box the fan came in, a roll of lime green masking tape and a car aircon filter. I was pretty proud of the result, so much so that I haven't dismantled it yet; it's sitting in my bedroom performing duties as a 'filterdrobe', lifting my clothes from their usual floordrobe status. It's like a pet. I pat it for good service when it surfaces on washing days.
For a few brief weeks, life went back to normal (say it with me: whatever-that-is), and I was rushing around prepping classes and delivering them at each respective campus.
Now, again, as I said last post, we're all stuck indoors but! with permission to exercise. The rules keep changing daily (I saw four men trying to fix a flat tyre today, which as of last night is an illegal gathering...) but I think we're always going to be able to exercise. I'm not someone who consciously does exercise. However, since we've been ordered to stay put, I've discovered a love of a daily solitary outing. I either go for a long bike ride during the day, or a long walk through the night. Canberra is blessed with excellent suburban cycle paths, cutting through between roads, around parks and under busy thoroughfares. I push my earphones in, choose a playlist, and walk and walk. I have lots of playlists in Spotify, but there's an album always on my phone that is the best music ever to walk to: Temperament, by Everything But The Girl. It was made to a walking beat, and as Tracy walks and sings, so do you. It also holds in its audio memory a time in my life when I needed that album, and it really helped me through some tough times. Listening to it now makes me feel like a survivor.
I just went for a long walk, high on sugar from some godawful icecream that I bought on sale, trying to walk it off so that I can go to bed (it didn't work -- here I am, hours later, blogging until it wears off) and I started seeing things.
There is a large red robot snail that benignly rules over this region.
Happy Underpass is happy.
Luckily I see kind, quirky things. The suburbs are deserted, I feel safe walking alone, which is a privilege of living in a middle-class area.
EXERCISE DILEMMA: I have one pair of trackie-dacks, and they are that weird grey-brown that black cloth goes after years of washing and neglect. I've worn them once out on my bike, but they just felt wrong. I have no other activewear, so I do all this exercise in jeans and walking boots. Shall I buy some activewear online? The thought of it makes me feel dirty. But I feel like I'm wearing out my jeans too fast. I don't even know if the urge to exercise will last. It might die at the sight of myself in lycra.
Stamping
The other day I felt like sending a book to a friend, so I researched the postage cost and then looked in my postage-stamp box, which has been sitting neglected for ages. I discovered a heap of Xmas stamps and small-denomination stamps (to make up the shortfall every time they raise the price), and so plastered the envelope with these stamps and rode down to the local postbox and posted it (without actually touching the box).
Today I got this back from her:
The woman at the post office was very excited.
'Are you a stamp collector?' she asked.
'Not in the way you're asking,' I replied.
She went in to a long explanation about how much these stamps would excite a collector, although they wouldn't be worth collecting because they hadn't been franked.
'That's good, I can use them again,' I said. I got a shocked look from her.
'Well, you can try,' she said.
Has she never heard of steam and glue-stick? If the PO are too lazy to frank the actual stamps, it's fair game to keep using them.
Which makes me think... according to this infographic, CV-19 germs only last 24 hours on porous surfaces like paper and cardboard... so posting things is ACE! By the time things get to you, they're safe, especially if you don't pay the extra 50c for premium delivery!
Let's bring back the habit of posting things to each other while we're stuck inside for the duration.
Next time, I'll share what was in the envelope.
BEARD WATCH: Four days, and I have small patches of stiff stubble, about 2mm long. I am fighting the urge to get my tweezers out. I realise that the plucking is less about the look of a hairy chin (although that is a pretty strong motivation) and more about having something to do with my hands. I'm having pluck withdrawal. I even keep tweezers in the door of my car, and I often pluck (by feel) at traffic lights. Luckily I don't have to drive much at the moment. I spend a lot of time stroking my chin. Some of the hairs are white, not that lovely invisible white-blond of Scandinavian maidens, but thick WHITE like old crones. Cackle.
Tip for the exercise clothes, K-Mart. Cheap, so if Exercise runs away in fear of your reflection, no loss there. Also, colours. Greys, blacks and olive greens sans text. No hot pink spandex with horrendous slogans like, "It's booty day." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CYRENWT8lz8
ReplyDeleteGood tips, I heartily endorse the lack of horrible text. I gave up logos and slogans years ago except on tees and badges. I did order online: I went with men’s non-fleeced tracksuit pants in grey, they are very comfy. I only use them on my bike, the walking doesn’t seem to want a change of clothes.
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