Today marks the day that I cease to subscribe to Google Alerts: Afghanistan. That's right, gentle reader — Capt. Mike is finally coming home.
Of course, as a responsible Canadian, I will still keep myself informed on international affairs. I just don't have the same vested interest that I have had for the last six and a half months.
After reading my account of the climb, I've gotten a lot of questions about what happened to Mike during all of this. I am beginning to feel like Sarah Jessica Parker when she forgot to thank Matthew Broderick in her Golden Globe acceptance speech. Or was it an Emmy?
But I digress.
Mike was there. Mike was very much there, and had he not been, I would not have been capable of half of what I accomplished on that mountain, let alone making it all the way to Stella Point. He talked me down when I was literally and figuratively falling apart (the face peeling episode was really not pretty). He took care of me when I got sick (also not my best hour). He stood gaurd during midnight bathroom runs. He laughed at my truly pathetic attempts at humour (it was the altitude, I swear). On summit day, his encouragement was the only thing keeping me on my feet.
My account of the climb was strictly from my own perspective and written in a style meant to allow the reader to appreciate the magnitude of what a climber expects of their body on such an endeavour. I in no way meant to imply that I did it all on my own, or that Mike's role was insignificant. He was the sole reason for my success.
Congratulations. :)
(Capt. Mike is the one in the middle)
I am thinking it's a sign
that the freckles in our eyes
are mirror images
and when we kiss they're perfectly aligned
I have to speculate
that God himself did make us into corresponding shapes
like puzzle pieces
from the clay
And true, it may seem like a stretch
but it's thoughts like these that catch my troubled head
when you're away and I am missing you to death
-Ben Gibbard
Twenty seven percent:
The proportion of people who felt Gov. Davis was recalled because of a right-wing conspiracy.
The portion of the population in the Nablus district of the West Bank living in communities with between 3000 and 6000 people.
Percentage of Americans willing to eat stale Peeps marshmallow chicks well after the Easter holiday.
The fraction of people who prefer their car to their in-laws.
Number of gun-shot injuries inflicted on citizens of Oklahoma by friends or acquaintances.
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How could anyone possibly be able to resist that? I was seriously not expecting anything this Valentine's Day, but he managed to come through, despite being in the absolute middle of nowhere.
Today, we bid adieu to The Captain of Outer Space, and welcome our new foreign correspondent, Mike.
Mike is heading off for greener pastures (if by "greener" you mean "arid" and by "pastures" you mean "not-quite-wasteland") for the next 6 months, and has promised to send back lots of photographs of things like sand dunes, shrubbery, and possibly some ligers.
I, unfortunately, am going to be stuck here in Ottawa, where we have recently been assured by an assortment of tunnel-dwelling rodents that we can expect another 6 weeks (at least) of freezing temperatures and midnight snow ploughs. There will likely be much twiddling of thumbs before I get to embark on my next big adventure: climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro in July.
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