Look, my mom reads the blog. This one is for her.
Here I am in a tropical bird infested bug swamp. I left Victoria with a wad of cash spewing between my fingery fist, and now I have a few bills to hang out to dry on the clothesline. There are no dryers here. THE SUN SHALL PROVIDE said Australian society and so few homes seem the need to install these clothing ovens. The washing machines seem different, as they spin at ungodly speeds to work with magical gravity forcing the moisture out. With time on the line your T-shirts and pants are crispy pancakes, easy to fold and crunch into flat stackable plates and tuck away into a drawer. I just got my first set of Australian drawers today actually. Finally my room floor can be clean and organized. The few things I brought and bought seem to scatter evenly for floor space, but no longer shall I provide shelter for the cock roaches. Such cock roaches that rudely interrupt fapping sessions, as my wonderful girlfriend still resides in Acadia, or the west coast equivalent. I miss her so, but the bugs keep me company though I don't request it. My body swollen and battered as word has gotten out of an exotic flesh not yet tasted by every single species of bug, some sampling more than once. This flesh destroyed by the sun that provides all, Rednecked and farmer tanned to perfection, no longer drapes over a large gut. The sun wants my moisture dearly. It takes requests it daily, and takes as much as it can when I allow it. This moisture is taken from my fat storage, no longer needed to keep me warm, but also from my bowels, which process food slowly into dry bricks far behind delivery schedule. Beware of Tumbleweeds, I may have had a hand in their creation. My creations have been limited at best, I haven't been pumping out shit blog posts. I realized today that it's my blog, and I'm not disappointing the ideals of 'Speed Hero'. No, I'm just disappointing myself. Disappointment is not just contained to the lack of free range expression, but where free range lacks, focused expression marvels in the attention. I've been putting out forests worth of resumes both paper and digital. I hope minecraft can provide enough trees for the emails I've been sending to employers. Sometimes I'm worried those trees have dried up, or the phones have run out of minutes as employers can't seem to reach me. Each so friendly to accept my donation of recyclable paper. I was warned people would be rude in Australia, but that's hardly been the case, rather the opposite. I've spent more time meeting and greeting, sleeping on couches and farting in car seats than I have in a long time. This social exercise has kept the depression to a minimum, and lets me know the things I have to say are at minimum, mildly entertaining to a general audience. This audience seems to make up a great chunk of car culture here in Brisbane. I've been to nearly uncountable events in the just over a month period I've wasted my savings upside down. Drfting, sprints, club meets. It's been at least 2 events per weeks, some weeks I'm up to 5. There's more than that to attend, and wishing I had a camera and a car is cutting into my confidence greatly. There is much more opportunity to indulge my passion on this hot side of the rock. It polarizes me even further when it costs twice as much for 10 times the fun of back home. I miss my family and I miss looking to my left first when crossing the street. It didn't take long to get to know the streets, not from a navigational perspective, but from a mirrored one. Just flip the image and it's all the same with one exception: No turning on a red light. For those back home this would be a right turn, down under it's the left. Sitting at a traffic light for ages, being raped for moisture, unevenly, by the sun. I must thank and continue to thank all those who treat me well. I hope to have the strength to treat them the same. I refuse to re-read this or seepl check it. It with deal.
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