Dethklok stood behind the podium before thousands in Espo, Finland trying to apologize for the destruction and mass suicides caused by their music’s darkness. Unable to muster any sincerity, the band wrote a new national anthem for the Finish people, taking the lyrics directly from the Finnish Folk Book of Necromantic Spells. Mustakrakish, the Deth Troll, awoke from two thousand years of slumber by Murderface's heavy bass and Nate Explosion's screaming, and the seventy foot demon tore apart the country side. The Metaloclaypse began.
After watching the Adult Swim cartoon, Isaac and I plotted to climb at Nason Ridge, where steep blocky sport climbs fill two caves. Saturday morning, after warming up, we hiked to the upper cave, where there is a steep arete with a crux boulder problem in the middle of the route. I climbed up, placing my right foot high, pulled in tight, and wind-milled my hand to a half pad crimp. That’s so metal. Moving to the anchor, my wrist felt tweaked. On my second attempt, I stuck the windmill move, threw, and pulled in tight but fell throwing for the next hold. Lowering, my wrist started to hurt. I couldn’t climb. Isaac, who had just flashed the route, was spent and didn’t mind living the crag. We headed back to his house on Pine St where I popped down three Ibuprofen and soaked my hand in ice water as we watched Rampage. That night, I took care of my hand with more ice, rest, and a six pack of Pabst.
The next day, I rested my hand, taking more Ibuprofen, and rotating ice packs on the sore area. And so it has been for the past week. Having a hurt right hand has not only kept me from cl,imbing but has ruined my sex life. My amount of free time exploded. Suddenly, I baked more. I cleaned the house, and I got drunk. I read a few books, watched a dozen movies, and then when I didn’t have anything else to do, I sat on my ass. For a couple days, I worked on a short essay for the upcoming Stonemasters book. Though I am spending a little more time writing, a good thing, I am spending most of my time festering, a bad thing.
For the past seven years, I’ve been on tour. Yosemite, Squamish, Hueco, Indian Creek, and now Leavenworth. Dethklok never saw that much rock. Most of the trips have been good and I did not mind the gypsy life or a rock climber. Now, with my injury, with my desire to get a real job, and start working towards building a stable life for myself, I found I do not have a home, no place to begin from and it depresses me. I am home sick. I just do not have a home to be sick for. As Nate Explosion would say, “Brutal.”