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Wear 376: Calling All Intergalactic Pokemon Hunters

When I get back home after four twelve hour night-shifts, I have to be strongly encouraged to leave my house in the four days I then have off. I don't want to see Humanity. I want only to look at words and puppies. So it was a little odd when I found myself in a group of ten strangers (including the strange Mr Earwig), standing outside a church on the town main street, on a Saturday afternoon, battling for a Legendary Pokemon.

I lost half of you with that last sentence, didn't I? Yes, I play Pokemon (it's great to get you walking—actively playing the game alone, I have walked 772 kilometres!). Yes, I'm still playing Pokemon, And yes, other people are still playing it too. It's still a thing.


I'm not sure if I'm telling you what you already know, but, for the un-initiated, there are three Pokemon teams: Valor (or as I like to call them Valour), Mystic and Instinct. Valor and Mystic seem to have more players—or more aggressive players. Instinct (my tea…
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Wear 375: I Stopped Blogging, But I Didn't Stop Shopping

Oops! My house is ready to pop with clothes. Shoes. I lie in bed at night and plan storage under my house. It keeps me awake. There is really no other option but to start blogging again.

Are you guys still out there?
So. What you been up to?

I've still been watching you all. Some of you have left this mad world (of blogging), some have flourished and grown and expanded. Joy to you all in whichever path you have taken. Personally, I don't know why I am back—except for the shopping addiction. I have never been the 'blogging for a living' type. I don't know why. It would be more creative than what pays my bills now. But I don't think I'm that person. I'm anti-social (or, as I like to think of it, socially inept). I don't like to sell myself (yeah, I know I'm posting pictures of myself on the Internet, but I'm talking hard-sell). I like to do what I do, and be what I want, without feeling I need to move with, or stay with, a me that is b…

Word 2: Two Thousand and Ten and Seven Harry Potters

I have been writing this post for six months now ...

I was going to make 2017 a year of simple Book Challenges. I would read what I have, and read what I have said I wanted to. I would re-read the Potters in celebration of twenty years of the first being published and I would start on reading all the Agatha Christies (I hadn't read even one!) I would count the books I read and just do one or two official challenges while also playing along with the Goodreads Seasonal Challenges in the terribly inefficient manner I usually do. It seemed a simple task; I have, instead, had to make a spreadsheet. With colours. And stuff.

Following are the Challenges I am doing this year. I won't tell you the results of last year's challenges—besides 'unfinished'. It doesn't bother me. I read books I may ordinarily have not, I made lists, I enjoyed. I'm happy with journeys and endeavours instead of destinations in all this. Aim for the moon and hit the stars, as they say…

Wear 374: To the Caribbean?

I've always wanted to go to Cuba. It's in the Caribbean. It's not so much that the passing of Fidel has made it more appealing—I wasn't really fussed one way of the other. It just brought the thought back to the front of my mind. I'm having trouble convincing Mr Earwig though. It's the time of the year when I start planning, angling and aiming for my big holiday in May. If I don't have ideas and plans and missions to discover things about it, it is like it doesn't exist and then what hope for the future do I have?


I had been dangling images of Sardinia and Corsica seductively in front of him for a few weeks. Corsica has the most difficult (apparently) long distance walk in Europe—the GR20—although I mostly concentrated on pictures of beautiful beaches and mediterranean food. Like most people, difficult, mountainous, seven day walks, carrying everything you need and sleeping on the ground, if you are lucky, doesn't appear to be high on Mr Earwig&#…

Wear 373: Thursdays and Mondays

Maybe I need structure, guidelines, a pattern, boundaries. No. No 'maybe'. I do. We all do, don't we? I'm trying to instigate a blogging boundary whereby I blog on Mondays and Thursdays. Officially it is now Wednesday. Going well so far *sarcasm*. The thing with setting up a structure for yourself on something where the repercussions for not following through are not life-threatening, is that the only thing that keeps it in place is your will power. I think I have misplaced mine.


There are things I want to do, but don't, because my will power seems to have taken an extended holiday in a place with no internet connection:

Eat better
Do yoga every day
Take long walks—I'm talking ten, fifteen kilometres at least—on my days off
Make a beautiful garden
Make a beautiful house
Make anything really


When put like that, it doesn't seem an unachievable list or an insurmountable challenge. I'm not trying to cure cancer: apparently bananas with black sp…

Wear 372: Just Call Me Ebenezer and Other Literary References

Is it possible to hear, see or speak at the moment without the subject being Trump. The only reason I bring it up is that I have heard, through memes—that most reliable source of information—that talking politics on a public forum alienates friends and family and decreases your Christmas liabilities. There it is! My actual beef is not with Trump (well, it is, but that is different beef), it's with Christmas. For the last three or four years I have worked over Christmas. I get to see how much people love each other and enjoy each other's company. *Sarcasm* (I work in Emergency Services—people don't call us 'cause they're loving it up!). Ready to all shoot me down? I'm going to say it. Are you ready? I don't like Christmas.


Deleted.

That's deleted too.

Now that! That is just plain censored.


This is now draft two of this post. In draft one, I continued to write about what makes Christmas a burr in my paw. It turns out I think I will alienate f…

Day 371: Ways to Hide Your Vitals

I love jeans. I can't dispute that, even with myself. Because I counted them. I have over forty-two pairs.

I like to call it forty-two-plus because of the magical qualities of that number, and the ability that a plus has to disguise the actual embarrassing number.


I wasn't even aware until I did a closet clean out and couldn't let go of a single pair - regardless of the supernatural effort it would take to get into some of them (especially if I carry on with the cocktail session I am currently enjoying poolside in honour of the extra year of aging I have achieved recently).


How can forty-two-plus pairs of jeans not double up? There is everything from traditional blue to patterned with roses; everything from white to black with forays into several coloured spectrums; skin-tight to flowing and flared; pristine to ripped by design or ripped by love.


But. I do have a weird jeans quirk. I don't like anyone seeing the bits. The girly bits. The feminine 'y…