Day 33: Avoiding adventure


A half liter of whiskey was the short-term solution. Photo: Isaac Stone Simonelli

ONLY with careful planning am I able to create a day that nothing happens. And that's exactly what I need. I can't relax until I'm caught up with work – the blog – and I can't sleep if I can't relax, but I do stress eat sugary foods.

Putting myself to bed with about half a liter of cheap blended whiskey, Balletine's, last night was only a short-term solution.

Utilizing my singular superpower this morning, the inability to get a hangover, I am at the keyboard soon after the die ordered me muslie with yogart and fruit.

The traveling, the experiences, the writing, it's all amazing. However, there's no break. There is no holiday. There is no weekend. Close friends and family have pushed for me to take weekends off. Eventually, I'll have to find a solution.

But like Aerosmith, I don't want to miss a thing.

I arrived at Three J Guesthouse at dusk last night. The sliding gate was pulled aside and my little beast rolled onto the tile floors of the small, family compound.

I field a few questions from a man who is doing is master's thesis on the structure of editorials, who also happens to be the man checking me in.

It didn't take long to recognize that Three J Guesthouse was exactly the refuge I needed from the world.

A tiled path within the compound leads to rustic wooden bungalows, shielded by a tall wall from the town around them. Enormous, organically designed wooden chairs fit for Celtic kings fill the space, while heavy jungle vegetation leaks out over the walkway – it's a fairy village.

Though I would not be surprised if a fairy came flutter down to me as I type away in the big wooden chair, it's company would not be welcome.

The compound was a perfect refuge from the world. Photos: Isaac Stone Simonelli

Today is a day that nothing is supposed to happen.

I roll the four-sided die to see how many times I'm allowed to leave the compound. Only once would be amusing, as they don't serve lunch or dinner here. However, the die is lenient and allows me the max number of departures throughout the day: four.

My first break comes in the form of an insanely painful Thai massage. My face works on a variety of grimaces, my breath uneven as I struggle with a grinding pain from elbows and feet digging deep into me. The woman works on my elbow, which is still struggling after the climbing injury in Bangkok.

Then, back to the compound. There is nobody else here, outside of a larger woman sweeping the walkway.

I spend a lot of time pacing back and forth between the chair in front of my room and the kettle of hot water for tea.

I leave a second time for dinner, having had lunch immediately after the massage. Both times, the die selects a random dish from a a Thai-language menu.

I had no idea what I the die was ordering. Just praying it wasn't shrimp, which I'm allergic to. Photos: Isaac Stone Simonelli

Longing for company, I'm happy to see that JP, the American who had spent last night here as well, is in when I get back from dinner.

“Come by the room and I'll pour you a drink,” I say. He can't. He's off to Ayutthaya.

“You lonely,” he asks.

“What? No, not at all...” reply with fake bro-vado.

We quickly share project ideas. He's been on the road for eight months after quieting his job, making short films as he goes for JPGoesGlobal.

He warns me about a frightening group of aggressive dogs that he encountered at the historical park earlier today. We link up on Instagram, then part ways.

Back in front of the laptop, whiskey and coke in hand, I'm fairly pleased with having avoided any unnecessary adventures today.

I think any normal hobbit would approve.

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The Proposition

THE premise is simple: Allow die roles to determine the majority of decisions faced while motorbiking throughout the world with a limited budget for an entire year.      It’s 365 days of tempting fate, enticing serendipity and letting go of free will – if such things exist at all.

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