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Wear 379: Between Ten and Twelve-ish

I’ve been looking at subscribing to an app for six months that will tell me to eat sensible foods, in sensible proportions; have healthy snacks on hand for those times when you need to snack; exercise a little more; keep what’s going in lower than what’s coming out; drink water; don’t give up. Why do I need to pay for that when I already know it? Since July I have been counting my calories. It’s doing my head in!

I’m preaching to the converted most likely. We all obsess about this. We are taught/encouraged/brainwashed to be obsessed about it. It’s big business. I’ve lost anywhere between ten and twelve-ish kilos since July (depending on what day it is—a complete and randomly fluctuating non-pattern of unexplained variation: aka 'scales'). I lost that weight during an eight week what-we’ll-call ‘diet’, during which I fairly much stuck to an eight hundred calorie a day food plan and tried to increase my walking every day. I motivated myself by posting weekly on…
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Wear 378: Thinking The (Knee) Deep Thoughts

Even though I don’t write them down as often as I used to, the deep thoughts, the meaningful questionings, keep happening. And recently they have spurred me back here. These things are too profound to be simply bouncing around, alone, in my head. They need to be shared.

One. Why do people buy cars and then buy personalised number plates that tell you what kind of car they have? The car already says what kind of car it is. If you had a 1990 Toyota Corolla and you got a personal plate that said MYJAG, that would make more sense. You would be saying something about where you are and where you dream of being. MU5TNG on your 2018 Orange Fury Mustang (That would be the plate on my ‘90s Corolla) just says: ‘I can’t read what my car says.’ Which doesn’t make sense because then how do you read your plate? See, deep.

Two. If you are a Tradie (Tradesman for the non-Australia speakers out there), how do you decide if you’ll wear Fluoro Orange or Fluoro Yellow? Is it a purely personal …

Wear 377: Hunting Less, Or More

When I was the bravest spider-hunter in the house, I would be the one with the kiddie's bug catcher, trying to trap the little buggers, and move them to places far from home. (Aside: remind me to tell you, another time, about the tiger slug.) I would be the one trying to convince myself that braver spider-hunters than me would just pick the thing up and transport it with their bare hands, and as the bravest spider-hunter in the house I should be doing that too—until it walked across my hand half-way through the kitchen and then all semblance of bravery disappeared, and all semblance of fear-on-two-legs took over.

So when I was sitting on the couch after a late-night Pokemon hunt recently, and Mr Earwig was sitting close by and the look of spider-hunting-ness entered his eyes with a direct focus on my skirt regions; and given that the move to Earwig House with said Mr Earwig meant that he became the bravest spider-hunter and I became the screaming maiden, or mande…

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…

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&#…