It is so inconvenient when life gets in the way isn’t it? Being newly relocated and unemployed, I was thoroughly enjoying spending my time writing late into the night and running in the cool – or not so cool – of the early evening. Now I find myself with odd jobs at odd times, auditions to prepare for, submissions to submit, and the necessities of life to attend to. Things like grocery shopping, replacing blown up electrical equipment (see yesterday's post) and visiting my friends at the Post Office and several other favourite bureaucracy loving institutions.
Which means yesterday’s run was sandwiched between attempting to teach three year olds how to sing - though as my father-in-law pointed out, at least they’re toilet trained - and eating a magnificent seafood dinner prepared by my husband who is getting antsy now for his contract to start. (This is the longest he’s ever gone without cooking professionally and my parents are I are reaping the rewards of his frustrations). Tonight was grilled cuttlefish caught with his very own spear, (see picture) followed by a delicious bouillabaisse with garlic rubbed toast. Honestly people, other than a masseur, who else but a chef would you really want to marry?
Yesterday I ran in my youngest brother’s shorts again – he is due home in a week or so, but I just don’t think I’m going to give them back. I’m quite partial to the built-in-undies now. It’s a lovely added bit of aeration and makes me feel a tad professional to boot. I’m also quite sure that the more I show of my lily-white large legs, the better off we all are. For my top I chose one with a built-in bra (similar benefits for women as the shorts are for men) but made an unfortunate discovery mid-run. This was the top that had sat at the bottom of the dirty clothes bag in Nelson Bay last week. By the time it finally got washed, the sweat from that week old run had well and truly made its bed amongst the fabric. It will now, forever, release an overwhelming odour much like stagnant seawater every time I take it out for a sweat. On the upside, it was a fast run as I was somewhat embarrassed by my stench, which forced me to sprint whenever I passed someone to avoid them catching a whiff. Perhaps if I’m dressed in a shirt so smelly I can hardly stand myself, and promised a fabulous meal at the end of it, this marathon won’t seem so bad…
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