Don’t Forget Your Towel

Somehow I missed last month’s 10 year anniversary of the end of my 3-year exile to Antarctica and the 2 years of recovering from frostbite. I may have been distracted by the then-looming slight possibility (something like two to the power of twenty-five thousand to one against) of ending a similar streak.

Karma: Think again, Bright Boy.

Anyway, I was reminded of it (the ancient shag anniversary) again today. Mere minutes before waking up, she was back, and I was nearly back in the saddle. (or maybe, based on the logistics of the moment, I was about to be the saddle.) The only thing holding things up was “we can’t. We shouldn’t.”

That wasn’t me saying it [Karma: this time], but I was also not the one who was married in dreamland (and IRL). Just when I thought things were trending my way, it was suddenly morning and normality had been restored.

At least until I learned she dreamt of me at the same time.  [Karma: this is my constructive criticism on THAT.  Did you learn nothing last time?]

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