Waiting for the Proverbial Straw

Things have been hectic around here. I am so sick of packing and unpacking. There is still much to be done. In between moving to different places, I would stay at my mother’s house for a while, each time leaving some stuff behind, thus my mother’s house has become something of a storage space for me. Since I now have my own home, I feel that it’s only right that I empty all my accumulated crap from her house. I don’t know how, but I acquired so much crap that after the fiftieth or so trip, I’m ready to pretend that my size 0/2 ladies clothing belong to my brothers.

Yesterday, I played hookie from work and did my 45lbs mountaineering training up Mount Si. The jump from 35 to 40 pounds hurt so badly, like I’ve finally hit the weight increase that will cause my bones to snap. Every step caused every joint from my ankles to my shoulders to pause and simultaneously ponder why the brain is allowed command this ship, because right then, it feels like we have the world’s shittiest captain. From that experience, I half expected a mutiny when going from 40 to 45lbs. Shockingly it was not all that bad. The absolute worst part of 45lbs is that it’s probably approaching my deadlift barrier (I don’t work out, so yes, I’m a bit wimpy in this department) so trying to put on or taking off the pack is a pathetic series of grunts and near-herniated disc.

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