oh, the terror

I believe, due to the VERY slight drop in temperature, that we have crossed Florida's border. Aha! Now in Alabama. Florida...ah, Florida. In and out of sticky, sweaty slumber while sludging through this 771 page fiction book I'm reading. “The Terror”....a tale of gore, sickness, and horror among a crew of men searching for the Northwest Passage in the Arctic in the 1800s. (book report?) As I read of packed ice, blizzards, -80 degree weather, severed limbs, gutted bodies, monster attacks, scurvy, cannibalism, and starvation I continue to sweat in this microwave of a bus driving through what feels like hell's armpit. Today has been a beast. Traveling from Miami to Mississippi (18 hr. trip) and all I can do is read and dream continuations of what I have just read. I awake in soaked blur and think of my men. make a mental checklist like those in the book made by Captain Crozier. For a moment I imagine I am trapped in a frozen nightmare with slim chance for survival and mutiny on the horizon. In a moment I am not convinced. It is too hot to imagine I am in the Arctic and grateful for this....this sappy weather. "My men"....they have showed signs of exhaustion. After a day of choiling in the sun and eating little (I have yet to see Finnegan eat AT ALL today), their weariness is apparent. Ryan has taken captain's seat in S.S. Crucial for the first time and is handling our vehicle as would make “Captain Cundick” proud. The remainder of Josh's beer rations have been consumed and his infamous toothache has set in again. The crew's spirits have temporarily been boosted with Ryan's selection of sweet, sweet eighties rock, but I fear that if we do not arrive at our destination soon, the mood may worsen. The overall desire for a shower wells up within me at a frightening rate. While in and out of half-sleep, the bus to me smells of sweaty, musty dirt and hints of vinegar. It's enough to tempt me to change out of my most comfortable dress after three days of “sporting it.” In this kind of weather, it seems justified. I am d-i-s-g-u-s-t-i-n-g. Mosquito bites everywhere and I feel I shall scratch myself to death. Over the past few days we have survived on a diet of spaghett and whatever remaining tinned goods are available. Should the food run out, i think we'll eat John first. He is the bass player after all. There is rumor onboard that if we make it to our show tonight, we shall be fed a vegetarian feast! I look forward to this and can't help but sigh at the thought of tonight's ten hour drive. I want to scream over the murder which just took place in the book. Wow! The non-fiction I'm living with Loom beats the hell out of a seaman's life on the Arctic. Take the heat. Sweat with grace. Think of the fun had in the WARM ocean while in this humid existence. Think of discovering Mississi'p.