Relative Something

It’s not as if there isn’t a lot to write about, what with everything going to hell in a hand basket and death and disaster everywhere we turn all at the same time that everything is coming up roses and love is all around, but there is hardly enough time between periods of Stanley Cup playoff games on nights when I should be setting up my tent to see if everything is present and accounted for, or giving my bike a deserving once-over inspection and superficial clean and lube in preparation for the week-long trip. Not to mention that I need to prepare things tonight for my early departure in the morning for soccer at the health club, and in the interest of best health it behooves me to get myself to sleep before that notable 11 o’clock hour.

Next week, I’ll have all sorts of time. But I won’t have my internet connection. It’ll be back to the hand-written journal. That’s ok. I know how to make that work. I gotta go [watch hockey] do some packing. Yeah, that’s it, I’m working on packing…