It’s so good to be home. It really is.
For one, I am back in my queen sized bed. Where I can roll around and not slam into a brick wall. I swear I’ve scraped all the skin off my left arm from trying to roll and waking up face planting the wall.
You see, I went up the north coast for my university classes. Being that I’m doing my study externally it means that I have to spend a week up near the NSW & QLD border.
Yes, I was there… Lismore [Source]Now, Lismore is lovely. It’s densely forested. It has rivers, I mean it is known as part of the Northern Rivers after all and since I am the smart woman doing an environmental degree I spent a lot of time waist deep in fresh water, salt water or shrubs. In the middle of winter.
Smart? Possibly not my smartest move, however at least I didn’t end up
in the river head over tits in the river like my team-mate. Oh no, I just splashed my way through because I figured I was going to get wet and there was no point trying to avoid it.
What I didn’t plan on, however, were the tics.
Tics, those little things that bite dogs. DOGS. Not humans. Dogs. But this far out of the city apparently they settle for anything warm.
One of the girls was hospitalised because of the amount of tics she came back with so I guess I should be grateful that my tick decided that my tits were where it wanted to burrow. Kinda like most of my ex’s to be honest. What can I say, even my boobs draw tiny blood sucking creatures. Maybe they do have their own gravitational pull.
Er, back to the point however.
I had a tic. A tic.Look at them. JUST LOOK. They are disgusting.
And one took up residence in my left boob.
To say I was grossed out was just, well, a lie. I may have been near hysterical. And my friends thought me coming home with a leech was bad. Oh no, the tic had me wailing about how I might end up vegetarian and never taste the sweet sweet juiciness of steak ever again.
Melodramatic? But of course. I deserve a tiara.
Suffice to say, we don’t get freaking tics in the city. Well we do, but they go on our animals.
Having one on me was akin to me finding out I had a disease that was going to make my tit fall off.
Ok, so maybe I didn’t realise it was a tic until it got really itchy and I scratched it without looking and all of a sudden there was this thing. Without a head. And me squealing.
My tit is fine now, by the way.
But this is why I’ve been so quiet.
Tits and tics.
And rivers and chemistry.
Gods it’s good to be back home.