Funny backpacking trip story #1
Location: Franconia Ridge, White Mountains, NH
3 friends and I decided to hike to the peak of Franconia Ridge carrying our 40+ lb. packs on our backs. Big mistake. Steep climb, huge rocks, steep descent. When we finally reached the summit, we were tired, hungry, and desperate (actually I was the only desperate one but let’s pretend we all were). I was sitting by a large rock regaining a steady breathing rhythm whilst enjoying a grand view of the vast expanse of land that lay below before my eyes settled on a broken chunk of milk chocolate with hazelnuts. It just lay there seemingly unscathed. It must’ve been misplaced not too long ago. It really couldn’t have been more then 24 hours, but I wouldn’t have known and didn’t care how it came to be. Without second thoughts and with shaking fingers, I picked it up and exclaimed with joy to my companions that we had been bestowed upon with gold. (It was truly glinting in the sunlight) After a few ‘ewwws’ and ‘gross’ we all shared an oath that whatever happened on the peak that day was okay. And you all probably already know what happened after that…..
Moral of the story: Chocolate is okay all day everyday no matter the circumstance.
I am a self-proclaimed serial cuddlier. Cuddles in the morning, cuddles in the afternoon, cuddles during after-lunch and after-dinner full belly need sleep time, cuddles before sleeping, cuddles in the shower, cuddles in the car when he’s driving, cuddles in the gondola, cuddles during cuddles time.
I wrote cuddles so many times the word now sounds super perverse.
Thank you kindly~~
Stopped at a co-op in Brattleboro, Vermont this past weekend and picked up some lavender buds, ashwagandha strips, rose hips, and ground stinging nettles for only $5. I’ve been reading the 2013 Herbal Almanac (gifted to me by a friend) and am slowly learning the ways of natural healing, balancing the chemicals in my body, and being healthy.
There are times when I get upset over foolish things.
One of them is when I’m reading a book that starts out fantastic. The characters, the plot line, the emotions, the flow, everything seduces me into its pages for days. But then….the writing falters and the author loses his/her voice. The change is so dramatic it’s disheveling. I’m reading awful chapter after chapter but can’t seem to follow the words any longer. This happened today. The excerpt was a dialogue between two characters that had shared a fervent love, lost connection, and were reuniting under extraordinary circumstances. The conversation was so juvenile and cliche I struggled my way through it and felt myself internally cringing. I was so upset I decided to rewrite certain sections of the second half of the novel. Maybe I should have just stopped reading it altogether, but it’s hard to start a novel and not finish it.
I bought white pants.
I don’t know what I was thinking.
I hate pants.
They ride up my crotch and bunch around my knees.
All my clothes become ridden with soy sauce stains, paint splotches, and grime.
I also googled “outfits with white pants”
And have alas, come to the conclusion that I am returning these absurdities tomorrow.
One time I cried while reading a novel. The excerpt wasn’t sad, it wasn’t depressing, nobody died.
It was about love.
It was the feeling of running her finger along the dip of his collarbone.
The way sunlight peaked through cracks in the window and cast hues of blue and purple in the strands of his mussy tresses. The way skin and bone and flesh feel like barriers on days when I wish I could curl up inside his very being and be carried there forever. How happiness is nothing without pain, without that ache, without the rapid tear of your heart beat engulfed in flames, without the sweaty palms, and days and nights spent on useless thoughts all because I miss him.
I cried because her words resonated within me, no actually, it was as if I were reading my own feelings and thoughts printed on a paper, composed by a stranger.
I always forget my mantra about nonfiction novels: approach them with caution.
Especially the ones where the words are strung together so effortlessly they glide through your head like water cascading down a river. I cannot help but immerse myself within this fabricated world and abandon my reality, forgetting my duties, time, my sleep cycle, the hunger pulsating beneath my ribs. My eyes tire but they stay open until the very last dot on the very last page. My hands start shaking at the thought of painting what I’ve just read, but surprisingly (according to my current state of instability) I always summon enough reason to know that if I do that, I won’t be getting any sleep that night. Then after, I curl up on my side and shut my eyelids but the rapid escalation of my heartbeat delays what my mind and body so desperately need.
I drum a finger with each rapid tap of my heart undulating against my chest, and it is many taps of my finger before my heart dithers back to its natural rhythm.
Hopefully, tonight, my mind will shut the fuck up and I’ll get some rest.
omg lol when did you send me this “u still alive”
There is no need to talk so much. There is no substance behind your meaningless ramblings and opinions. Why fill the silence when it has more to teach us then the words that come out of your mouth? Don’t take this as me not listening to your words. I’m listening to all of it, and yet there is nothing.