I woke up on the floor of the van. I hate the cold. My sleeping bag was warm like summer, and emerging from it was an assault. It took hours to wake up and feel human. I hate the cold. I felt as gray inside as the sky above. An overpriced coffee gave me no joy. I used the toilet at Acme, and an old man pleaded at me through the door: he really had to go!
"No," I thought. "This is not at all like being on a tropical island."
I managed to start my day. I managed to go to the places where books are sold. As far as doing what makes me money, I had a great day. The job is going well, but maybe my guts and brains are a little smashed up. Probably focusing on reading and crochet would be better than Yukon and friends. I know this. I'll make an adjustment.
But I am not depressed! I was at a party recently where the only rule was don't fall into the pool. Bands played, and cans were smashed on the floor.
I've been having a great time. I've been hanging out with friends, and I went to another party with fiddles and other traditional strings.
Back to this day, it had a slow start. The sun eventually pushed a few rays through the foliage, and I knew it was not cold. Shackleton's men were cold. This is merely autumn. I have a little bit of time still to plan and prepare my exit.