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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Tuesday, Aug. 05, 2003 @ 7:34 pm
Who in their right mind would give up their summer to spend two long months away from home, live communally in small cabins and tents in the woods, work 16-hour days covered in ground fish and animal excrement, chop mice and mealworms, forage in the forest for branches and greens, scrub filthy cages, pens, pools and floors? Endure a season with no TV, radio or computer? Wildlife interns, thatís who.
Me, that's who. Shit, I'm reading over this internship stuff, psyching myself up for it, reading up on homeopathic treatments and the such, and the intensity of the program freaks me out. It is going to be a shock on my system (along with the jet lag) to actually work, to get up before 8am, and to lose those afternoon siestas.
Anyhow, Karen is busy emailing boyfriends #2 and #3; I'm booking our London hostel. And we're both digesting our afternoon visit to a down-on-the-farm Dutch cheese factory. Karen took a photo of me in a giant wooden shoe, and I took way to many photos of the windmills. I can't think of windmills and not think of Toad the Wet Sprocket.
I miss my discman.