My dinner in camp would have tasted quite good this evening, by the usual (rather terrible) standards of the Stagmont Camp cookhouse; there was deep-fried chicken, quite a rare treat, yet, it didn't taste quite so good anymore.

For I got the night off, and nothing, beats home-cooked food, the very much tastier food that my mother cooks, not to mention the infinitely more comfortable atmosphere of home, of warmth and cosiness.

It's interesting how, really, anything goes, as long as you want to make it go.

I used to think I'd die struggling under a load of nearly half my weight of 20kg, let alone walk 24km with it. And, I did it, and quite comfortably too. I used to think I'd collapse clearing 11 obstacles and running 1.5km in under ten and a half minutes, but I did it, and in nine minutes too. I used to think I'd die doing a lot of things, but I did them anyway, and smiled through them (no matter how much I felt like dying just before).

The moral of the story?

习惯就好.

Now, I sure am looking forward to walking 8km with a 40kg load; sometimes, I think being masochistic can be an enjoyable experience.

Really, the human mind is a powerful, mystical, enigmatic machine of unlimited powers.

It sure is interesting, shifting into a meta-state at times to contemplate yourself, so neutrally, even as you are trapped within yourself.

How interesting.