I am super lazy. Although, in other ways, I
am marginally less so. So, ying and yang. Good cop, bad cop. Whatever. We can’t
have it all. Why do good things happen to bad people?
I would just like to take a minute to
acknowledge all of my recent achievements. I have been exploring my own
backyard. I have been stepping outside
my comfort zone. I have also been overachieving at work.
Let me explain.
The last few weekends, I have been out and
about falling even more in love with this beautiful country that I call home. I have been climbing mountains, fording raging
torrents, fighting off [the New Zealand equivalent of] of bears. My tramping
wolfpack consists of three people. It’s exclusive. However, the third wolf, I
think it would be fair to say, is not as experienced in the Great Outdoors as
the other two wolves. Therefore, not knowing what to pack, this shewolf brought
with her a preposterous 3 pairs of bedsocks on our overnight tramp. Although, I
will claim full responsibility for, rather conveniently, forgetting to tell her
that the track went straight up a large hill for over three hours. But things get
better than the ‘3 pairs of bedsocks’ incident. Her confidence the rest of the
wolfpack was not diminished, despite the lack of communication about the track
being a vertical climb which, in hindsight, should have raised alarm bells.
Needless to say, the next time we took her tramping with us, she decided it
would be a good idea to fall down a bank and sprain her ankle. Up a gorge. With
no track. Or avenue for help (don’t you hate the sinking felling of watching
someone you care about disappear off a ledge?). At which stage the wolfpack had do some pretty
quick thinking as to how we were going to get that one wolf back out down the
gorge. With no track. Or avenue for help .
Our logo
So we did what all normal wolfpacks would
do. We made her walk out. On her own two paws. Because she was a strong
independent young wolf who don’t need no man.
Buckler Burn
Mueller Hut
Oh hey there, pal!
On her own two paws
Not a tramp without a fire
Hooker Valley
Aoraki
Now, stepping away from the wolf pack situation
and into a much more terrifying situation…
What could I possibly be more terrifying
that watching a wolf from your very own wolfpack disappear over a small bluff? Ah, yes. You guessed it. Attending dance classes. And, as many of you know, I don’t dance. Like at all.
Unless I am exceptionally inebriated. And even then, it’s usually more of a
drunken sway that could be mistaken for an attempt to walk in a straight line. But no. Now, every Tuesday night, I put myself through an hour of voluntary torture and
mortification just so that I know that I can do it. And if I can go to dance
classes, I can do anything. Including graciously receiving compliments from my
dance partners such as, ‘you could be worse,’ ‘that wasn’t terrible’ and ‘keep
trying.’ Although there is always that one guy who refuses to dance with me,
because I’m terrible at following.
Lies.
I’ve been achieving things at work, too. Well,
actually, the majority of my calculations are wrong. But that’s neither here nor there. I get paid for
trying. But this week, my friend, office buddy and partner-in-crime (one
person) and I stole (I use this term loosely) 4 garden gnomes from a careers
expo. And, as all normal people do, we have spent the rest of the week painting
said gnomes as caricatures of each person in our research group. Including our
boss. It’s actually very meditative. If you are feeling a bit stressed, try
painting a garden gnome. None of this adult colouring book bullshit. We just
took the adult colouring book idea to a whole new level; added an extra
dimension, if you will.
Like this. Except less weird.
Kinda.
Aside from that, I am starting to wind down
and focus on getting paper work sorted for my imminent departure from NZ in
less than a month’s time. But I wouldn’t want to spill the beans and tell you
where I was going. Because then I would have to clean up afterwards. And I hate
cleaning. And I hear cliffhangers are the best way to keep people reading.
The million dollar question.
