I'm not writing this for another 6 hours.
Or maybe I wrote it 6 hours ago.
I'm not so sure, but I know I'm jetlagged, and in the wrong time zone.
My poor carcass is day dreaming that it's still spread out on the grass on the Toronto waterfront, trying to avoid eye contact with the crazy guy with the fake (and frankly, poor) Scottish accent on the mountain bike claiming to have cycled from Vancouver.
If the smell is anything to go by the reality is he cycled no further than from the public toilets he unfortunately has to call home.
The reality also is that I'm actually back in Holland, and totally, and utterly knackered.
Never fear though, as there is always an upside. Namely, humping.
Can sperm get jetlag? Man-milk mono?
Do eggs get thrown off schedule by multiple transatlantic flights?
I'll be buggered if I know, all I know is that all of a sudden it's episode 19 of the OC. That's 'Ovulation Central', not the cheap angst ridden teen drama. Although it has it's similarities I suppose.
This is all well and good if you can stay awake during the day and asleep at night, which is proving difficult.
Although maybe the 4:30am squelchy session is just what's needed to catch all things 'reproductively obstructive' off guard. We could try to sneak one (or 20 million, whatever works) past security, if you like.
Wait until that eggy tease is snoring her outer layer off and dreaming about the 'look who's talking' sperm, before creeping up on her, gagging her and letting her have it. Goooood.
Lord, have I just turned Spencer into a sexual predator?
I need a holiday.