So I'm running the laundry for the fourth time - the same load. I fell into some river on Monday. Morris River? Who knows. Within the past year a bridge was built crossing it, but the huge old tree that spanned the river's width was far more tempting. It was raining. And some fungus had me feeling a little funny. So by the time we found our way down around and over to the big tree and skirted onto it's massive side, my friend Matt said "Wow. It's really fucking slippery." After spending a little time on the branch myself I said: "um...we can turn back if you want" Him: "its too late to turn back now."
Well, for once in my life I decide to do the smart thing: back down from the call of the tempting challenge and stick to the safer route. As I work my way off the narrow island on which the fallen tree's trunk resides, the seemingly solid ground beneath me proves itself a simple facade of mud and leaves floating against the apparently steep embankement. Grabbing onto a large branch overhead as the foliage beneath me gave way, I managed to only go waist deep into the water.
Rancid water.
The sogginess didn't bother me. Nor did the dirt.
It was only several hundred yards later, as we were walking upstream and coming upon a toxic sewage dump place that I started to feel nasty.
By the time we were directly next to the facility and I could smell the crap I just swam in as it poured out of pipes into the water, I probably should've stripped and run naked to the nearest shower.
But now, I think my favorite pair of sneakers (why'd I wear the new ones on a rainy day!?) and my favorite pair of sweats (the grey ones that I picked up at a Theatrikos "garage/lobby sale" that turned out to be Wade's) are going through their fourth spin through the washer in a lame attempt at salvation.
Seriously - isn't that fucked up that they still REALLY, REALLY smell horrible?
It has me kind of frightened for my health, and my skin and stuff. And the Planet.
Oy Vey.