the post without a name

This last week I've really enjoyed being unemployed. While it's not particularly pursuant to any goal involving having enough cash to avoid eating noodles several times a week, it certainly allows a degree of occupational freedom that I can't help but love to bits.

After being ambushed by a Reload on the 9th, I spent my Tuesday with a friend from England bumming around art galleries and exhibitions in Fremantle, riding Wednesday and Friday, shopping on Thursday, hitting the proverbial town on Saturday night with friends after an extended BBQ lunch and spending Sunday on the beach for a Christmas party.

Unfortunately all of this free time has also given rise to the sobering thought that in six weeks I could be anywhere within a couple of thousand odd kilometres setting up camp for the next couple of years. One part exciting, ten parts terrifying, three parts skipping town to Mexico.

Yesterday was also a year to the day since we lost Russ in a motorcycling accident, and it's never very long between the times I think about him. It's a lot nicer thing to celebrate than it is to mourn. Thankfully, there's a lot of celebrating left to be done.

I might also mention that when I rode home on Sunday morning at 3am that the Bureau of Meteorology reported that it was 23°C outside. At Three AM. Whoever's in charge of the world's weather system needs to lay off the Red Bull.

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