The long dark
To say that my routine has wobbled during lockdown would be a serious understatement. I always imagined I was made of sterner stuff.
I’ve packed on the pounds, neglected my calisthenics and (perhaps most heinously) I’ve started to sleep in, shockingly sometimes until 7am.
This last week I’ve been trying to remedy my shortcomings, and despite being a Sunday today, I’m up at four ay-em. Its been quite hard to regroove myself and I feel I must admit to at least one further failing…
I have three bins in our pantry that contain, perhaps pedantically, kindling, workshop off cuts and finally bigger logs from my woodpile. My routine is usually, in true boy scout style, to build a solid altar fire, and I am (9 times out of ten) able to get things going with a single match without having to resort to any form of accelerants. Its a point of personal pride and I imagine my troop leader of yore would approve of my merit-badge endeavors.
This week has been, come in, chuck some wood haphazardly into the stove, throw in a fire-lighter and plonk my burgeoning form down into my protesting chair to check my overnight trades, blog and (much to my shame) maybe get in a solid hour of gaming before the heathen pygmies rise from their slumber to put paid to my day with their shenanigans.
The convenience of instant-fire is terribly appealing. Of course this means I spend spend several minutes each morning contemplating how I will survive the apocalypse (when it comes) having not honed my survival skilz.
I make up for it other ways.
I’ve started playing this…
Ha ha. I’m not really into the survival game genre. In fact I was amazed to discover that this is even a thing. Usually games of this sort feature zombies or Mad Max style protagonists. This game is about a downed bush-pilot in Alaska. Hmm. Do you still call them bush-pilots up North or am I throwing in an African colloquialism?
In any event I’ve been dying. A LOT. So much so that I had to watch a YouTube guide on how NOT to have to reload every five minutes. Attacking wolves with the metal shiv you’ve crafted out of a bent piece of float-plane propeller is not recommended. They are not doggies.
*looks over at his ‘German Shepherd’ keeping him company this morning*
I’m used to this. Which… apparently shares its genetic material with those forest dwelling pack animals.
I’m not so sure…