Someone Send Me Nine Fly Swatters & A Pair Of Blaze Orange Laces - It's Fall!
Flies ruin everything.
Seriously, for those of us on The Compound, the F in fall stands for flies: nasty, swarming little critters with the irritating tendency to give up the ghost all at once and die in mass graves on our tables, shelves, and window frames, just as if someone had poured a bowl of them out onto our furniture. This massive crash landing only seems to occur when we have an unseasonable [not to mention, merciful] spell of warmth in this already wintry climate. (Ice in September, yes.)
I hope the Hawaiian Islands have their own version of this sort of thing, because otherwise, that's just not fair. Not only is the infestation disgusting, but apparently, it's also our fault.
Just ask the Log Doctor. Yeah, you read that right: the Log Doctor. This expert seems to think that we need to reseal the windows. Or buy some fly tape in bulk, which i've been considering heavily.
Lest you think we have been bested by our kamikaze friends, rest assured. These few and glorious warm days we've had since September have not gone unappreciated. We've swam laps. We've paddled rivers. We've arched archery.
And we've run. Shockingly, we've gone and run some more.
I run in spells, which is to say, in stretches. Which I guess is also to say that I'm astonishingly undisciplined, and can't stick with a habit for more than a matter of weeks. If you don't believe me, ask someone I hang out with. I'll crochet twenty-five tiny hats in a week, then quit cold turkey. I'll paint my fingernails a different color every three days, then stop for six months. I'll start growing my hair out... then cut it to an inch and a half. I'll wake up early to work out... then, a few days later when I realize that the other option is to stay in bed, I'll drop my ambition like an anchor and slam the snooze button.
So I guess what I'm saying is that I don't do long-term discipline, but I totally rock at being impulsive.
I'm sure I'll be back to my normal (read: lazy) self soon, but I've been in a bit of a running mood these last weeks. This is fantastic, especially considering two things:
1) C and I leave for our third annal Utah Camping Spectacular in just over a week. The air is so much thinner up on those canyon ledges, and if there's any way that I can lessen the amount of huffing, puffing and splotchy-skinned embarrassment I will undoubtedly endure in view of the general public - well, it's a gift I'll take, thank-you-very-much.
2) You might think this is premature, or that I'm just exaggerating again (Me? Exaggerate?), but here's the truth: winter's a-coming. And, based on some fairly consistent past experience, I tend to get a little "soft" during the snowy season. You might call it getting "doughy", "jiggly", or even "squishy". C and I just call it "having a little extra". A little extra what, you ask?
A little extra of a lot of things, actually. That's the problem. It's like putting on one of these, only it's not a suit.
It's just more of me.
So, even if I run in phases, i'll still count it as running. And even if the Fly-pocalypse occurs only on floridian days, I'd still rather have the buzzing, balmy respite than submit to a seven-month period of looking more and more like I live in a network of underground tunnels.
Sometimes you can't win 'em all.
And sometimes you just can't win. But on those rare occasions when you're in the lead - albeit, temporarily - don't complain. Just bask in the glory. Because that - that - is your moment.
Until a fly lands in your coffee. Then you know you're back.
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