In which I try to cultivate creativity and self-discipline and practice honest self-representation by blogging every day for 30 days. for twenty stupid minutes a day.
in which I am possibly a cursed spinster.
. . . and then one of you suggests you meet up. For a date. In person in real life face to face and well. This was the whole point in the first place, right? RIGHT?!!@
I give you: The Case of the Shattered Glass Ceiling.
*cue MUSIC! Intense MUSIC!*
Last summer, the two weeks quarantine upon arrival were in my apartment, which was hard for a laundry list of reasons, but I gotta hand it to the HK gov’t - they know how to make things much, MUCH harder! Luckily (I guess), after a year of going nowhere, even with the mandated hotel quarantine, I was desperate to get home so I took the plunge. In a way, I was almost looking forward to the adventure of returning to Hong Kong and trying out the new system. If nothing else, some character building and a good story, right?
We saw dolphins in the surf on the second night, and I sprinted into the ocean to try and make friends (if I recall correctly, I did an Ace Ventura impression. It did not work but by golly, I felt alive). I shivered on the walk back to the dining commons, made two trips to the pasta bar, and then by silent, mutual consent, the group decided running was hard and pasta was good, and sporadic dolphin chasing missions were more fun and probably counted as cardio.