I don't understand why toilet brushes don't have longer handles.
Or aren't ergonomic.
Or are so splashy. .
moving on.
 |
| "Colorado bRob" - what my Dad dubbed my post-Colorado can-do-anything persona |
Once upon a time, I worked in Colorado. I learned a lot that summer - about people and how to deal with them,
how to backpack
how to hide in the best hiding places where little children can't find you
how to negotiate with seven-year-olds
 |
how to sweet-talk little girls into not crying |
how to properly climb up a mini-glacier
how to repel & belay
how to get the leisurely [slow] group, including one ornery 10-year-old cuss, up a mountain
and how to be hardcore.
Having been completely engrossed in the world of academia for the past three years since, I forgot that I can do things besides accidentally get papercuts while opening textbooks and drink insane amounts of coffee.
But when I had to move my bookshelf down three flights of stairs last week in the sweltering heat with only the help of my little grandma, I was reminded that I can still be hardcore.
[that never-ending, multi-claused sentence looks German]
[that never-ending, multi-claused sentence looks German]
I carted heavy rafts and obnoxious children around for a summer -
I can do difficult, taxing things now, too.
God makes us to be these dynamic, multi-faceted and capable creatures,
but sometimes I put myself in a weak and nerdy academic box.
Moral of this soliloquy:
Moral of this soliloquy:
bRob = 1, bookshelf = owned.
- Colorado bRob
