Thoughts from Geophysical Field Camp
- A dry desert wind is like a continuous peck on the cheek from your great-aunt Esmeralda.
- Like a clam, I form pearls around tiny grains of dust caught up in my tender membranes. But my pearls are made of boogers.
- Romanticizing the heavy, humid, begrudgingly-dragging-themselves-along-with-continual-protest winds of my youth (the logical extension of no. 1) is a Very Bad Sign.
So I’m back, and I would tell you the stories of my week through the lens of bruises and scratches and bangs, but after a hasty move on Saturday I still have an apartment covered in boxes of crap and no food in the kitchen. Stories will just have to wait.
Guestbloggers, you’re safe here until at least Wednesday evening, when the data analysis is due and my summer bumhood begins in earnest.