Look! A thistle! ... OW!!!
Today just did not fly. Took a deep hot bath and that was my only accomplishment. All things considering, the relapse following my double-day-treks has not been as severe as usual. And today felt like the end of it, already. So. Forced myself to have a small dinner. Remaining trout, broccoli, and etc. Funny, it seems that fish is not really fish unless it has been a bit burnt and crusted. That's how fish was meant to be eaten. Like at the campfire, a million years ago. I've had some old Pink Floyd playing. One long 'song' has many weird sounds, including lots of birds. Near the end, a Scottish man shouts angrilly with reverb - a prelude to, "Stand still, laddy!" I first heard this amazing artsy piece back in Madison, on WORT, and I thought it was contemporary. Although, maybe I heard it even before then. My dog stopped in his tracks, hearing all the birds, and became very alert. I've got three radios running the signal, and so it's like surround-sound. By the time the Scottish guy started yelling, my dog was freaking out. Anyway, this song is like an encapsulation of my childhood. Me, the wee nature boy, surrounded by the sounds of birds and animals and water and then in marches my angry father with his fairly Scottish accent, and it's all done. That's like the whole point of Scotland. To walk in on the wee ones and shame them away from nature forever. Once, when I was in HS, I went to a hotel suite with a bunch of pals to smoke pot. I suggested they play, "Dark Side of the Moon," because it is classic head music. Sure enough, by the time the Scottish men started their talking and quipping, I was very high, and was certain that my father was present, in the next room - OMG! Well, I was in a HS play, wherein I did a skit where I was the Scottish engineer on Star Trek. Each night, I did this funny little twist of, "I'm sure, too!" with a more and more absurd Scottish accent. One night, I did this little joke, and there was silence in the audience. I looked at the crowd, like, "OK, what?!" Also in the crowd was my family, including my father. I guess he was audibly outraged, and never did come backstage to congratulate his son. I guess he just went home. Such are the strains of being an immigrant in America. Oh, that Irish temper.