Soon I'm off. Off to hobble across the desert with all the fervor and madness of an inured geriatric. It cannot come soon enough. Hopefully I don't return a paraplegic.
I currently await my chariot, which is set to arrive momentarily, and we will pick up my mattress, load up our belongings and head to no mans land, where the man is.
He's gonna burn.
There are friends there that I cannot wait to see, friends that only appear once a year. It's something about the climate there, something about that alkaline dust which covers everything like snow and makes friendship blossom in a way that it doesn't anywhere else. It's something that must be seen to be believed. I'll suffer the car ride just to feel it.
Isn't it strange how, often, we must suffer, or go to great lengths and expend much energy just to feel pleasure?
No pain, no gain.
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