the great outdoors

Now I drag my oozing bulk from the swamp of apathy -- where the flies suck juice directly from your sclera -- to perch on the edge of my desk. Now I jab at the keyboard with my sausage fingers slamming multi-keys giving life to golem words like gorf and padlkldffff. Now I scratch my ear with an index finger covered in cookies-n-cream fitness bar that leaves a trail of dirt frosting along the inner ridges. I am a recovering mess.

I went camping over the weekend. With co-workers. I didn't shower for two full days and when I got back I took a long hot shower and scrubbed my hair twice. Then I fell asleep for many hours. Monday was a blur of dehydration and sleepiness, with some photo editing thrown in for good measure. Oh and work.

It was a good trip that involved a lot of drinking and sitting around staring at fire and watching the silhouettes of bats flitting against the sky, slapping mosquitoes off my knees, and refilling my red plastic cup with Jack or Knob Creek or Crown Royal and swiftly melting ice.

Part of me must still think I live in southern California because I kept looking around thinking I was camping in bizarro land. At first it seemed the same but then all the trees were different and the wild life was different and if I thought too much it made my head fuzzy. There were alders and great blue herons and bears just down the way that wouldn't come after your potluck leftovers or break into your cars, and there were big fat frogs dragging themselves across the grass.

Good news: there are still stars in the sky even if you haven't looked in awhile.

I relied on string cheese, blueberry muffins, and hummus for sustenance, but the heat made me not so hungry. It was nice in the shade. Mostly I put my feet up and listened to other people talk, and snapped photographs of other people smiling and when it got dark I listened to other people play guitar and sing as shadows flickered from the firelight.