Olympia, WA -
The Fish Bowl has Hodgson's IPA on cask again for the first time in ages, and twelve ounces in I have to admit I'm not as happy about it as I thought I would be. The cask brings out more sweetness than I want, and far fewer hops.
I'm a man of simple needs, but bitter hops is one of them. Damn you, cask o' Hodgsons.
But the real question, as far as hops go, comes down to whether or not I'll have the balls to turn down the waitress when she comes by and, seeing my nearly empty glass, asks me if I'd like another. Lord knows I should hit pause right now and try to get a 25-minute run in before the night gets ugly.
I failed. If it had been any one besides the Pittsburgh Steelers waitress in a lovely layered skirt I might have had the strength, but tonight she's a beauty and, like she said, "you might as well."
"Fuck it," I replied.
That combination of phrases could turn out to be the death of me.
Otherwise today has been somewhat of an epic day, as far as this week is concerned.
Back on Sunday night, my abs, sides and lower back became sore, and only increased in intensity as the week went on. I first thought it was just been fallout from Sunday afternoon's clam digging session, but as the intensity increased and drifted away from my stomach and into my back, I became worried that the logical answer pointed either to liver damage or cancer.
Adding insult to injury, I spent the entirety of Monday night in an insomniacal stupor, existing in a state of pure consciousness from noon Monday all the way through until 1 PM on Tuesday, lacking the wherewithal to fall asleep, though certainly not the desire.
I took a three and a half hour nap on Tuesday afternoon in order to avoid full zombie status before heading down to Centralia for an amazing bluegrass show with a band called Greensky, followed by an ill-advised stop along 4th Avenue once I returned to Olympia.
By late Wednesday night, when the internal soreness was at its peak, I was legitimately worried about these things and had even begun announcing my disease worries to whomever would listen.
Luckily I awoke Thursday morning to find the soreness had receded.
By Friday the soreness was completely gone, giving me the base of ecstasy that I had touched upon earlier, add a bit of good news on the job front, as well as an unanticipated gift in the mail from Solley, a pair of middle distance spikes that I promise to wear in as many beer miles and mile time trials as possible going forward, sprinkle in the goodwill that my beard has received around the coffee shops and hippie bars these last two weeks, and next thing you know I'll be back to sleeping twelve hours a day in no time.
Cheers to that.