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When the ultimate sports junkie is mentally stressed to exhaustion, a run, swim, yoga – or some other ‘me and the universe’ type individual physical activity – is required, urgently.
But what bizarre happenings caused the stress in the first place?
This story is not about partying for three weeks on strange substances, starving the body of all things good and healthy. Nor, as a couple of friends muttered on Facebook this week, how unfairly work and employers were treating them: with unrealistic, unattainable demands, not specified in their original employment contracts.
No, the ‘Furkids’ didn’t require hospitalisation, physical health or psychotic phases to rear their ugly heads. Not even doubled up marathon training sessions, to push one to the limit of one’s physical existence, compares.
An old Cockney friend pointed out half a century ago that relatives are like fish. Three days and out!’ he would say.
I wonder if the national gay census will show the reason more people live alone is because they hate washing sheets, and cleaning rooms that remain encased covers to prevent them becoming dirty for most of the year?
In this case it wasn’t the length of the stay. Overnights are good. It is still the same number of sheets, towels, floors to clean and breakfasts to cook. Let’s do the sums; they’re only little (doesn’t matter, eat more often, scattering food like bananas on a whipper snipper).
It was only one night. There were three of them, all under 8 years. They arrived en masse, complete with 12 wardrobes of Osh Kosh, Pumpkin Patch, Diesel and CK. ‘Just in case’ Mum said.
In case what? They ate? They played? They slept? God forbid they fell into one of the 19 fish ponds, water features or fountains in the backyard!
In a total of nine short hours, a month’s groceries, our complete winter rainwater supply, my sanity, every child-like toy, video game and exotic piece of furniture was reduced to individual molecules. Not that I’m complaining, we did after all invite them, ‘They’re really good,’ Nana had told us repeatedly.
From the house to the park, to the kitchen to refuel and outside to drive the Furkids off every comfortable piece of bedding they possessed (and there are many).
Into the back lane for ball games, into the kitchen to bake more rocket fuel; big mistake! I watch them now a peaceful triangle across the spare queen sized bed.
How good is that? Quiet and one set of sheets after all. My head hurts. I’m taking the Furkids out for a late night feline spotting expedition. I really need oxygen; even if it is raining. We can all get wet and enjoy it together.
Get moving, join a gay sports club at QSAM: www.queersportsmelbourne.org
By Wally Salinger
QUEER SPRTS ALLIANCE MELBOURNE