It’s almost time for home. As of RIGHT NOW, I’ve done 16 hours 53 minutes, fuelled by nothing but cigarettes and a hastily-scarfed bowl of tantanmen. Which I choked on, sc-horching my throat.
The upshot of all this? Well, I can now see things that arent’t there and have developed a pressing urge - nay, biological imperative - to punch certain 2channellers in the face and steal their shoes.
At least driving home will be fun. Zoom.
Dad sent me the Police Rider’s Handbook the other day. As many of the Amazon reviewers note, a gripping page-turner it is not. What it is, however, is chock-a-block with helpful advice on becoming a better rider, and it’s become my bedtime reading since it arrived last week.
“Knowing yourself” is the basic theme of the first chapter, and thinking back to the ride this morning, I’m seriously thinking of staying off the road for a while, no matter how physically painful it is.
What with one thing and another, the only thing I have to look forward to each day is the ride home. But due to my now near-permanent state of seething irritability, I’m riding stupidly. I know it’s happening: the scuttling up between waiting traffic mere seconds before the lights change, the pointless overtakes if anyone dares to drop beneath the speed limit, etc., etc. I don’t think I’ve done anything really bad yet, but still.
The thing is, if I stop riding, I may have to release my stress in other, oh-so-much-more-anti-social ways. Beating on homeless guys seems to be flavour of the month round here at the moment. :/
Aaaah, one of the very occasional joys of working for a large Japanese company: the annual grab bag of obligation chocolate on Valentine’s Day. Click the photo to see the annotated version on Flickr. nomnomnom
