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oh yes, it's my favorite time of year
swing
amw
I guess i should write something today. I am exhausted. I am done. I have black rings under my eyes and bruises on my body and i just want to sleep forever. But i cannot, because tomorrow i get on a train to a plane to another plane to Namibia. I have two days booked at a guest house there, then 12 more days to figure out after i arrive. I have prepared nothing. But really, what do you need other than some clean underwear, toiletries, phone, wallet and passport? Nothing, that's what.

The last couple years i've found it kind of funny whenever i go to pack my backpack. I still haven't actually gotten it packed tonight, i just took all my clothes out of the closet and threw them on the floor next to my pack so i can shove them all in tomorrow morning. And now there are no clothes in my closet. I literally only own a week's worth of clothing. I do have some other crap in my house now like a frying pan, a French press, two spoons, a mattress, a sound system, two tablets. But all i really actually need fits in a backpack. And even if i lose that... well thanks to German bureaucracy it will take a century to get all my cards back, so let's hope i don't get mugged and lose those, actually. But the other stuff? The pack itself probably cost more than all my clothes in it. And it was the cheapest one in the store.

I watched the Democratic debate today, just so i didn't feel i was only living off of soundbytes from Colbert and FiveThirtyEight analyses. It didn't change my mind much. Bernie Sanders is a grumpy old leftie who makes me want to cheer every time he idealistically lays into the one percent. Hillary Clinton is all smiles and teflon and is every bit the depressingly pragmatic hawk. Career politician vs archetypal politician. Stay unexciting, Democrats. On the other hand, the Republican clown car is so stupid as to not even be worth a mention. Aside from, you know, clown car.

I had a good chat with R last night after flaking on our last couple calls due to depression and alcoholism. She says i shouldn't become a manager. I probably shouldn't. I like the work, and i know i'm good at it, but i take it way too seriously and each time i get this sort of promotion (now the fourth time in a row), i burn out. I can't wait till i am done with this shit. You know. Middle-age/adult shit. Not that i will ever have the cash to properly retire. I don't have a retirement fund anywhere, thanks to my itchy feet. And despite my spartan lifestyle, i always end up blowing whatever savings i had when the inevitable burnout occurs. Yeah, fuck my life. I'm gonna go fly somewhere where it is sunny and empty and i can blame the tears on wind and sand.