Project Eveningland

4/2/2023 Sunday

By morning the blackout and the nuclear anti-protozoal meds had reduced me to a lump curled on the bed beneath every blanket I could find. The power was still out.

I ate cold-ish pizza for breakfast, took the last dose of pills, and curled back up on the bed. A day without power, and the Wrath of Metronidazole, had shredded my Damascus ambitions.

When the power came back on before noon, it took me a few hours to pull myself together. Took hot shower. Went to outfitter with huge long shopping list. What gear do I need that costs so much? I honestly don’t know. Bought a new battery bank, a tiny flashlight, new gloves (mine are coming apart at seams), and all other manner of odds and ends.

Where should I get lunch? The diner was still closed because of the power outage. The gas station, I want to go to the gas station. When the guardrails of shame fall away, that is where you go. The warming trays that had been filled with hand-wrapped breakfast sandwiches now carried your standard complement of gas station fried chicken and fried sides. I have come to know this world through backpacking. The idea of eating at a standard gas station (not a Sheetz or WaWa or anything) by choice would never have occurred to me before I started thru-hiking. I got some absolutely baller tenders. Benny, my darling, these tenders check every box on our 50-item Chicken Tender Quality Assessment Rubric (CTQAR)—Ben and I just pronounce those initials “seat-car” around the house to save time. The woman behind the counter slipped an extra tender into my box.

I fell into a nap hole for most of the afternoon. I was soothed to sleep by legal podcasts talking about the indictment of our former president. Call it Accountability Could Still Come, a new bedtime book to help anxious liberals fall asleep.

Tonight I’ll try to find the energy to divvy up all my shelf stable foods into some tiny bags I bought at the dollar store.

I’m looking forward to eating that big salad I bought yesterday and some fresh fruit.

I’ve got one more whole day to recover. Before the power outage, I reserved a room in a highly rated actual BnB, because this place was already booked for Monday night.

I still need a few tuna packets to add to my super-finicky resupply. The E.V.O.O. kind of tuna is way more caloric (bc it has olive oil in it) and has a subtler, less fishy, flavor. The texture is more even. I find the color more appetizing. Maybe I should write a Pouch Fish Quality Assessment Rubric (PFQAR—“peef-car?”). Nah. I’ve already tried all the tunas I want to try.