Tryin' to get it. It's hard.

I sat down with this intention to write and it's just not happening. Okay, and wow, it somehow smells straight up like chicken shit in my bedroom. I am not understanding how this can be. Yesterday Suzy blew ass chunks all over my bedroom while I was at work. I mean, mission burrito style layered in my laundry. I cleaned that like I was Cinderella. And now I'm here, in bed, sort of wanting to sleep soon, and wafts of eau d' chicken shit keep waving over me. I don't understand. I mean, my window is open but, really? I don't think it smells like that outside. I think it is in here. Maybe on a dog? Maybe on me?? Jesus. Too much.

But, back to writing, I feel like I write about the same stupid stuff always. So, I'm sort of over it. I need greener pastures. Just kidding. I'll write about that same stuff tomorrow. But, I do wish I had something new today. Although that would probably require me to have done something different today to write about. And I didn't. I worked, surprisingly little for being gone for a week but there was not as much to do as I expected. And then I came home and played fetch with the dogs. And was grumpy for a bit. That was different. I haven't been a grump for a while. Then we went to Rob and Tara's bbq and that was good times. I ate food off a grill and drank beer, sort of like Saturday. But it was awesome to see all those guys because I have not done that recently and they are terrific folk, worthy of seeing way more than I actually see them. Playing drunk softball was fun. That I have not done before. I am not good at softball I think. If I could change my beer pong throw with my softball hit then I'd be money at both. But I got the pop fly and the line drive in the wrong sports. What was amazing was the spectators. Like, there were some good plays I suppose if you're a sports fan, but really, it was a bunch of awesome drunk people trying to move a big fat white ball around a field, fairly unsuccessfully. And people watched, like the whole game. Amazing. I would like to continue playing this. Although it's pretty labor intensive. Like, you need multiple people. Multiple multiple people. And I feel like all my friends actually played softball at some point and I think I'd probably get pissed if I couldn't just suck at it and enjoy being terrible. I'll have to play with them to find out I think. But, that was the day. Laura came over and played some beer/water pong. We tossed a rugby ball around in the street. I think she's going to be a baller. And that was my night, seriously. Beer, friends, beer pong or rugby. Dogs. I mean, I'm not complaining, but at some point I don't know what to say about it. I have a lot of different thoughts every day but they are gone by the time I can sit down in front of the computer and then it all blends into the same shade of good times and general happiness. There is nothing wrong with that. I mean, it is summer 09 so it's to be expected. But, I sort of want more thoughts. Maybe I should have less beer and there will be more thoughts.

One thing I am excited about is hiking. I hiked the shit out of the Olympics with my dad when I was a kid and I just haven't gotten back since it's become my job to choose the hike and get the hiking pass and figure out the route etc. But I decided that I am hiking this summer, above all else. I think most free Saturdays need to be spent in the mountains. The only part of hiking that sucks is hiking in the damn crowded Cascades. The Olympics are so great because when you run into people on the trail you feel comradery, like, oh hey a person, and it's a person who also likes being out in the woods in their free time. In the Cascades it's like a fucking freeway. People are in passing lanes and there are damn trail runners whizzing by with fanny packs of water bottles. And people scowl at you if you have your dog off leash, like your off-leash dog is scaring off all the wildlife, not the hundreds of thousands of people that are basically running all over the mountain. No one makes eye contact and they definitely have never heard of the hiking rule where if you're headed down the mountain you step off the trail to let those coming up keep going. Douchebags. So, I sort of hate the other hikers in the Cascades but I think the change of scenery is neat and different than the Olympics for sure. And this hike I want to do next week has a super terrible road up to it so I am hoping that will deter all these freaks in their fancy cars that'll get roughed up in the potholes. That was fairly negative, all in all, but I mean to sound exicted for hiking because I miss the smells and the burn in the legs and the camp robbers.

This blog is ridiculous. I need to try again later.

awesome

The best thing I have heard today (it might only be 7am but I bet this still stands true when I go to bed tonight). "It's like a disease you want to have." - Leah, on rugby.

today

I am so glad to be home. I really am. I love seeing my family but home is where I belong. I was called a "lady" today at work. I love Seattle. So much better than being a man on the east coast. I don't have much to say tonight because I am tired. But, I love home. I love friends. I love my family. I love my dogs, even though Suzy shit all over my room and my nice clothes. I love Charlie, he's a carebear and a bear cub and has become my friend. I love the wild yard and how I'm going to tame the shit out of it once I'm done flying all over the effing country. I'm going to mow the grass and plant a garden and paint that fricken fence white again. I love those trees we planted out front and how big they've gotten in the past two years. I love the patio and it's stupid divet that is not perfect. I love our shitty beer pong table and the one I am going to replace it with. And the mountains and dogs and rivers and goal posts that will be painted on top of it. I love Lake City and it's shitty stores and dive bars and the weird awesome people who live in them. I love not hating and thinking that most people and things are good, even if I talk shit in the meantime. The bad makes the good, you know? I am learning to love the grey, along with the black and white. I am learning to love the middle ground and its vastness and possibility. I love that every piece of clothing I love is covered in stains. I love taking long showers even though it kills the environment. Isn't water all over this damn city anyways? I love my big red truck even though she also kills the environment. I love that she appeared just like I knew she would since I was a kid. And that's she's shinier and louder and more perfect than I imagined she would be. I love getting compliments from old men in parking lots and they are probably unclear as to my gender and why I own such a badass truck. But she's mine and always will be and I will love learning how to fix her myself and make her life long and important. I love that The End plays good music again and that I can listen to it in my truck because it's not raining much so my radio works again. I love that stupid radio and how I have to smack it (with love) each time it cuts out and that it's cheaper and better to just keep it, even though it sucks. I love the way the dogs look when they are sleeping. How it's peacefulness at its most perfect and their dreams are probably wild and full of creatures and sticks and mud. I love when my dreams are like that too. I love sitting in an inner tube on a hot river and drinking a beer and then dropping my can in my tube and cracking open another one and probably flipping over later even though the river is calm and I'm just drunk and happy. I love the way it feels to take off a heavy backpack at the top of the mountain and having to pull your sweaty shirts off your shoulders because it's stuck there and you feel like you could float off the top of the mountain because the air is thin and quiet and the best thing you've ever put into your lungs. I love the big hearts of strangers and their good ways. And I love fishing, even though it scares me to kill creatures that think they are just gettin' a delicious snack. Surprise! No snack, just a barbed hook and a quick trip to the surface and a hungry human. Shocking and exciting for all involved. I love how brief and violent the blooming season is, all the colors and falling blossoms and pollen. I love how it turns into the greenest you've ever seen until August makes the grass hard and mean and something you don't need to mow anymore. I love the smell of Value Village and how it means that they probably don't wash any of their donations and you are just putting on another person's clothes that they are too fat or skinny or old or young for. I love the ridiculous potholes and bumps in all the side streets and how you can ride them just right so you feel like you're offroading in the city. I love that the city is just the country condensed sometimes and you're in it with a lot of other people and that's okay to share this space together. I love the quietness of the real country and how it will be the way it is long after we're all gone and it'll remember us the way you remember being barefoot as a kid. I love the trees that want to be climbed and the old ones that have pulled their branches twenty feet off the ground because they're done with climbing and our foolish monkey ways. I love the brambles and how picking blackberries is like eating hot fried food because it hurts but you can't stop because you just want it and the pain is an okay trade off. I love that. I love the smell of leather and how you can turn something old and dry back to soft and functional if you just use the right amount of soap and water and time and you have to use your hands because sponges are for fools. I love the smell of horses, like hay and breath and sweet grass in the spring. I love that they let you just stand with them, almost better than riding them because they're into it to. You just stand there and that's it, you and them, and they are probably twitching their ears and flicking their tails and you aren't doing any of that but they're okay with it because you give them grain that's appreciated so you can be a part of the herd for a couple minutes. And something will probably spook them and they'll gallop to the other end of the pasture to stand there with their ears and tails ticking like a wristwatch. I love johnny jump-ups that will grow in a driveway or a bed of roses because they just roll like they, calm and cool as purple cucumbers and okay with who they are. I love that. I love the way your blood feels when you really love a song and how you listen to it because it makes your heart beat stronger and with such honest purpose. I love drinking out of glass bottles and jars and how real and heavy and good glass is when plastic is so much cheaper and already taking up too much space in our oceans. I love driving up a driveway and being excited to be at that place and I love parking on a hill and putting the truck in first or reverse and turning the wheels to the curb and the sound the emergency brake makes. I love remembering to turn off my lights every time because I've killed many a battery for not remembering that simple task. I love the challenge of breaking into a car I've locked myself out of and all the different things that can be used to unhitch that lock. I love the smell of fire and its loyalty the next morning. I love that this was supposed to be a short post and it wasn't.

May 22nd.

Yesterday was the one day I left my camera (cell phone) behind and it was the one day I really wanted it with me. We went down to Rowledge Pond just to hang out and it was the best time I have had on this trip. We tried catching frogs for about two minutes but I think I’ve lost my touch. I don’t know if I had more patience or grace or stealth as a kid but I definitely have none of those things now. Also, the frog pond was a steep-banked mudhole that I wanted no part of and the waterline was covered with super dry leaves. Those frogs are super smart for choosing that muck hole as their home – it’s like a fortress. So, we gave up on that pretty quick. But, the pond has a dock on it that’s nice to hang your feet off of. Which was a nice way to pass about two minutes until we got distracted by a bunch of mussel shells in the water. Greedy fat human? Or a neat pond creature I have not heard of? After Dad and Paula were done canoeing around the kids (we’re in out 20s but we’ll always be the kids on these trips) got their chance and we went around as close to the shore as we could. I had the honor of paddling, which is a feat in and of itself that we even made it around. But, we saw water snakes, some sort of water mammal (otter? Beaver? Muskrat?), turtles sunbathing, and we heard something huge drop off a branch above the water but we couldn’t see it and didn’t know if we wanted to from the sound of the plop. Then, the best part was when Dad and Uncle Frank took me out to teach me how to cast the bait-and-cast fishing pole. I was terrible. I mean, I still am terrible. But they were awesome and patient and gave me about an hour tooling around the edges of the pond. I probably casted that thing a hundred times and, near the end, started getting a little better. I only had a few casts that I didn’t need to unravel but, lo and behold, about five minutes before we were done, I caught the one and only fish of the trip. He was just a little guy and I swung him right over to Uncle Frank to de-hook. It was a large mouth bass and he did have a huge mouth, like on the fishing shows. But, he was less than a foot long. We weren’t going to keep him anyway, at least I don’t think that was the plan since there was nothing but the fishing pole and a cell phone in the boat. So, I told him that he knew what to look out for and better luck next time and plunked him back in the water. That made my night for sure. So, there’s that. Al and I got to make dinner when we got back to the house. I’d started some bread before going to the pond and had put it in Aunt Carol’s car to raise since it was super hot in there. It had done its job so we made the pasta mom always made us growing up and Dad made a salad. It turned into a decent dinner, if not a massive carbo overload. Delicious. And that was the day.

May 21st.

Traveling always makes me think of home. I think that’s why I am so bad at it. I love seeing new things and I like talking to different people. But, even though I’m not scared of being lost, I don’t like outsider status and always feel like I look like a tourist, even if I’m wearing whatever clothes I normally wear. Seattle style (not that I actually have any inkling of style at home) just doesn’t translate to other places. For instance, I have been a girl way less than a boy on this coast. Baggy shorts and t-shirts don’t cut it for a lot of these peeps, with their miniature inseams and huge boobs (tiny shirts made of spider webs) and huge sunglasses and make-up. I don’t think people think twice about setting me in ‘man’ category since I got none of that. I’m used to it but I forgot bathroom clips and I’m seriously getting ready to carry a pink bow to smack on top of my head before entering any women’s restroom. But, I didn’t mean to write about that, it just tangented away on its own. What I was thinking about was how much being away from home makes me appreciate it. I miss my dog. At home she can get on my nerves but I miss her huge smiling face (whether its from happiness or craziness) and playing fetch with her and watching her run like she’s on fire just to get a nasty tennis ball and bring it back for another go. I get excited when the sun comes out here because it makes me think of what summer is going to be like at home. I think that’s the best thing about May. This summer is as endless as a prairie, it’s touches the horizon and you know it goes further than you can see. It’s always different in August, when you realize you’ve done almost none of what you wanted to do and you’re just hot and sweaty and probably at work. But, that’s August and this is May. I’m looking forward to hiking to lakes with the dogs and barbequing in the backyard and running in the morning because it’s too hot in the afternoon and weeding the garden (planting the garden!) and eating all the good stuff that comes out of it and going to Molly’s cabin on the one weekend her parents aren’t there and swimming in rivers and ponds and hopefully riding my horse without getting bucked off and going fishing and maybe catching something but, if I do, I want to cook it over a fire and visiting Miranda in Paisley when the sun is out for blood and drinking in bars with air conditioning and drinking on the porch without it. My Dad said he’d give me this build-a-boat kit that he’s had for years and done nothing with. He said I just needed a hammer and drill and screwdriver to build it so we shall see if that’s the case or it its much more complicated than that. I am banking on the latter. But, if I do get the damn thing built, and it actually float, then I have a fishing boat and that is awesome. I’m not sure how big it is but I am hoping I can put it in the back of my truck, although I feel like that is tiny, even for a dinghy. I look forward to the naming and christening of it. I think I’m supposed to break champagne over the bow but I think it’ll more likely be a bottle of Rainier. Those are tough to come by but I bet I could buy one from the Sloop, they would understand. I’m definitely not much of a sailor though. I’ve only ever capsized small boats in the Puget Sound. It sort of freaks me out to be skittering along the water like a water beetle on crack. You tack or jibe the wrong way and suddenly you’re flipped like a turtle on its back and your sailing instructor, a grizzly bearded old guy named Barney who smells like sweat and seaweed, has to come haul you out of the water into his powerboat and you end up wearing his ripe old t-shirt the rest of the day because the Sound is damn cold. I like rowboats and little speedboats though. And I really liked this old sailboat named the Unicorn that was docked at Eagle Harbor. When I was staying with my dad on his boat we’d always walk by her at night and I’d imagine buying her one day and being a liveaboard like my dad. But, again, I love the water but I don’t see myself as a great sailor. I can drink and tie knots and smell like salt but I think I’d only enjoy sailing in the storms and I’d want a purpose, like fishing or rescuing people or pillaging other vessels, because sailing just to sail seems like too much for me. I’m like a sheepdog – give me something to herd and I’m happy but if I don’t have a job I’ll make up my own and it’s probably biting ankles or rounding up chickens.

On a separate note, the coffee out here is absolutely terrible. It’s like the worst gas station coffee you can imagine back home, but worse. And it’s everywhere. I always assumed the stereotype of Seattle coffee was blown out of proportion but, oh no, it’s very much to scale. This coffee is thinner than water and flavored only by whatever milk or nasty creamer you decide to cut it with. I am looking forward to grinding my own beans and making the thickest, blackest sludge I can on Saturday morning.

Last thoughts because it’s amazing outside and I should be out there instead of writing in here (just can’t stop the beat)… I’m seriously obsessed with this summer. Not in a wild and crazy way (although my drinking habits have been ridiculous as of late) but in an outside way. I always get sucked into too much city and too much work and too much boring bullshit during the summer. And I am going to do my very best to do my job, do it well, but to get out of the Jock as much as possible this summer. I only have one night shift until September. Even though it makes sense to work nights so you can be outside during the day I still hate it because it’s this gross wart that just lingers at the end of a beautiful morning, knowing I have to go into a busy, sweaty, dark place with no air conditioning. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an awesome place to work, but I’m past my time there and have been for quite a while. I was so cockily sure that I would be a firefighter before I turned 26. Now it looks like I’ll be lucky to get the job before I turn 30, if ever. I’m already starting to think of contingency plans. I don’t want to because since I was 19 that’s all I’ve imagined myself doing. It wasn’t so much that I was wishing and hoping to be a firefighter. I KNEW it was going to happen, just didn’t know when. When we were drilling at the tower at North one day the chief and my captain and a couple administrative staff were standing outside smoking. They called me over and I hopped to. They asked me how old I was, I said twenty, and they told me I could get back to the drill. Later, one of the LTs asked me if I knew why they asked me that. I said I didn’t and he said they were making bets on when I’d be hired and they figured right when I turned 21. That was when the economy was roaring (only five years ago) and it was a good time to get hired. Now, with shit the way it is, it’s more competitive than ever for less positions than ever. They are still out there though and I might not have as much of an edge as I used to have (EMT cert, current FD status) but I want it more than I ever have and am in better shape than I ever have been in so I’m champin’ at the bit to get this in the bag. I think I’m going to re-test for all the Seattle metro departments when I get back (Shoreline, Renton, Bellevue, etc) and study my brains out for those writtens so I can be on the top of the list. The thought of another summer at the Jock kills me but it is what it is I suppose. If fire isn’t in my future than I’ll look at teaching or nursing or woodworking I think. But, I hope to god it’s fire. There’s no adrenaline in any of those other fields, even though I’m sure they are satisfying in their own way. But, I remember when I knew I was going to be a firefighter. I was a camper at Camp Blaze and they’d lit up Cars on the Curb (a prop of three cars on a slight grade). I was on the nozzle and the instructor popped the hood on one of the cars and you really have to shove the nozzle in there and move pretty quick to catch all the fire coming at you. There was this thin shield of water and then this loud rippin’ fire right behind it and time was slow and fast at the same time and all you’re thinking is where it’s moving next and stopping it and slowing it down and working it up the hill and that’s when I knew I was going to be a firefighter. I hate this economy like the devil but I hope I can get ‘er done in the next year because I’ll work my ass off for whoever hires me. I will drill and study and stop playing rugby if it happens. Now, I’m going outside.

May 18th.

We drove through some of Connecticut today looking at places important to my family. We saw the house where my dad and uncle grew up, the school they attended, the church my uncle was married at. We saw Paul Newman’s house, somebody Dow’s rolling estate (of the Dow Jones Industrial Average) and the president of Duracell’s super humble abode. Connecticut feels pretty much like Fall City. It’s way green out here right now, like more green than Seattle. More green than Forks! Just kidding, I haven’t been to Forks yet this year. I haven’t gotten bitten by the Twilight bug (get it? bitten? don’t be intimidated by my puns, please). But, Connecticut is very lush, like Western Washington, except the woods are more clear and have broken rock walls strewn about them. Paula said it best when she said it was very Blair Witch. Guess who will not be wandering these woods at night? That movie scared the shit out of me. I am the only person I know who was terrified and not at all motion sick. But, I am also super gullible and didn’t know it was fake. Yeah, I know, wow. It happens. Also, my attention span is about half an inch long right now so I am all over the place with this writing. That also happens, and I apologize to all my readers out there. The point I originally sat down to write about was my thoughts about rural versus suburban towns. I’ve always been unclear where to draw the line. Like, is it by tooth count? Subscriptions to the Wall Street Journal? Instant or whole bean coffee? Crack versus coke? I mean, I suppose that’s just economical stuff (plus a whole lot of stereotypes) but I know some pretty poor suburbs that love instant coffee and crack. But, as we were driving through all these trees, with these mansion tucked behind fences it didn’t seem super suburban. It definitely had a rural feel, like Dabob I’d say. But there is no economy here, none that I can see any way. And I get that this is no epiphany for the rest of the world but the suburban/rural divide has to be based upon local economy. Is there one? If people live and work in the same town than it’s rural. If they live one place and work another than it’s likely they live in a suburb. I know this isn’t a perfect litmus test but I think it makes sense for a lot of places. Loggers, farmers, fisherman live in remote places but they are able to work in those places because that’s their livelihood. Obviously people work in suburbs (someone needs to bag your groceries and steam that latte milk) but there isn’t an economic engine outside of service jobs. A rural community would likely have something outside of the service industry to supply jobs or… it’s a washed up town like so many rural communities. People still live there, sort of, but it might be welfare, crime or scrappiness that gets them by (or some combination thereof). So many fishing towns on the Washington coast have gone this way, same with the logging communities and small farming towns. Anyway, I am sort of full of shit right now and I think a lot of this is borderline lies but I was surprised today by how obvious it is that rural just means people are trying to make it work where they are whereas suburban means you don’t expect home and work to be the same, or maybe you don’t want them to. This is the sort of stuff I think about in the back of a seven-person van driving down two-lane Connecticut highways. It’s super action-packed, I know it is. But, I tried to think about gentrification and that always makes my head spin so I couldn’t go there today. This had to do.

The Big Apple

New York, you're out of control. You like to divide yourself into "boroughs" instead of using the term "neighborhoods" that the rest of the country likes to use (excuuuse us!). Sometimes you instantly smell like old underwear and hot Honey Buckets, no warning, no time to prepare, and it pretty much feels like eating trash. I have to say, I don't understand how Central Park has such huge craggy rocks in it when the rest of the city is as flat as my dad's feet. I mean, I suppose you just loved you some dynomite back in the day. I get that. You were wild and crazy in your youth, probably a little too reckless and you blasted the shit out of Manhattan. I appreciated that today. Hills would have made our travels cumbersome. I also apprecite how obsessed you are with pizza. I mean, I assumed it would be a big deal here but I didn't know that every pizza shop was "the most famous pizza in New York." That's awesome! Quite the acheivement, even if I don't fully comprehend how it's possible. The slice I had was definitely extremely delicious. Also, I was drunk. On that note, I do not like paying $5 of $6 for a bottle of Coors Light. If there were six of them nestled in a cardboard holder for that price I totally get it. But, one bottle? That's rough. Tell the Blue Donkey to keep it real with those $2 High Lifes. They made that pizza the cheesy magic carpet it was destined to be. And I can't blame you for not having a vegan option. But, it made it especially special when my sister wandered the streets looking for something dairy-free and delicious while I chewed my pizza cud and hoped for a bathroom. Oh, and it was absolutely pouring. What was that all about? Like cats and dogs. Long-haired feral pregnant cats and dogs sort of downpour. And I heard it was 75 in Seattle. Neat. Way to pull the ol' switcheroo when the Northwesterns stumble into town. But I like that about you New York, you're not super cuddly. I mean, there was no misting, no sprinking, no regular ol' raining. You brought the heavens crashing down on the sidewalks and I think that shows a lot of spunk, maybe a bit rude but I've heard rumors that you can be touchy, even aggressively anti-social. Whatevs, Seattle is straight up passive-aggressive so I can respect your directness, even if it increases creeper interactions and almost gets me drilled in crosswalk after crosswalk. Luckily we got to avoid the crosswalks today since it was Street Fair Sunday. I think you could have toned it down a little with the Egyptian sheet hawking (but $10 is such a steal!) but I liked the cheerleaders and Scottish dancers. And it was sweet of you to remember how much it makes me blush to be called "sir" in H&M. That was four years ago that I was there last but you made sure to make it happen again! You even threw in a bathroom challenge in Old Navy to spice things up a little bit. You really shouldn't have.

I have to say, I wasn't sure what you'd be like down at Ground Zero. I sort of expected nothing, maybe a vortex or wormhole or something. But, you look like you're trying to pull yourself back together. Eight years later and it's a hole with cranes and rebar and earth moving equipment. You definitely did not seem yourself there, like way more quiet than usual. I guess it's weird to expect you to be any different. I just didn't expect you to still look so rough around the edges but at the same time I didn't expect you to have done anything to try and move on.

On a less sad note, thanks for sending Tracy Morgan out to say hey. I think he got confused about who he was supposed to be waving to because he seemed to be looking at the people just to our right but, don't worry, we still fumbled for our camera phones and took a picture of him hugging that stranger anyway. We got the gesture and that's what matters, NYC. And right when we thought we were in your good graces you had to put an invisibility cloak on that damn vegan chicken burger restaurant that we tried to sniff out for a solid hour. I did learn a lot by walking back and forth in front of St. Vincent's like we were looking for a magic portal (and I really hope that lady who went in with the dish rag on her hand has all ten digits still attached, she looked nice) and I hope you weren't offended that we finally had to walk back on the other side of the street just to spice things up and keep from wearing down that patch of pavement. When we finally found those chicken burgers they were as amazing as we'd hoped for, even if you doubled the price from lunch to dinner. I was able to forgive your slight of hand when we stumbled onto The Slaughtered Lamb. After texting my friends who I placed utmost faith in having seen An American Werewolf in London, and then being told nope sorry by all, I felt an even stronger bond to you, New York City, when you placed before me the very pub from the foggy Scottish moors?? Amazing! Seriously. So what if me and sixteen other people are the only ones who relish in a werewolf-themed bar. I thought it was fantastic and enjoyed my pint of Sam Adams thoroughly. And nice touch with the fire. It made the grey worth it.

1. spring rain when it's almost humid out
2. thinking about summer before it gets here
3. tired dogs
4. a picture that turns out exactly like the moment it was taken in
5. AC/DC and Lynyrd Skynyrd with the windows down
6. crossing rivers on logs
7. sitting on the top of a hill or mountain, either is good
8. doing something you've put off forever and realizing it wasn't that bad. or that it was that bad but now it's over.
9. washing cars
10. writing list

trying for real this time

Blogging is simply a weird phenomenon. I think I can do it because I'm pretty sure no one reads this. So I have some imaginary motivation to write but no consequences since it's just out there in the forest of cyberspace just being my words in a backdrop of absolutely nothing. But, I've had the writing itch lately. Maybe because I took a couple knocks to the head so it feels like there is less room in there for thoughts and brains and words and more smeared and wasted brain tissue. Seriously, I've never had a concussion but I'm pretty sure this was one. I didn't notice it until I sobered up, probably 24-48 after the guilty impact. And life has been a bit more of a struggle since then, getting slowly better though.

Anyway, the point is that I feel like I am sort of drowning in my own thoughts lately. It's not stuff I necessarily want to blog about. I really think a lot of it is my damn headache and neck tension since this weekend. But, I feel like a crazy person when I step back and look at my life from outside of it all. Like, I am sleeping in a piece of shit old bed, poorly. I wake up a ton at night, sometimes from carpal tunnel, sometimes it might be the streetlights, other times I'm not sure why. And I have two big ass dogs sleeping five feet away on a couch I grew up on, which is steadily turning into the nastiest courdoroyed dirtbag that's ever existed. But, they sleep so damn well on it I can't kick them off of it, and it's probably bound for the dump soon anyway. My belongings are mostly strewn around my room or the attic, which I'm terrified to venture into because it's just everything I've ever owned ever, knee deep. I'm such a damn pack rat because I'm constantly moving and never really settled, even when I think I am. And all the junk from my past is procrastinated on and then just thrown back into boxes and dumped into whatever place is my next home. And I keep waking up in this mess but seem unable to take the time to clean it up. And of course I'm speaking both to reality and whatever metaphorical stupidness I can put it on. My life was so damn scripted. It was all ready for me, every square inch of it. And now, when I am driving and thinking, I pull back from it all and see it as it is. I'm 25 and that's it. There's nothing else. The geography is the same, that's it. All the details are dust and it's weird to feel it in my fingers. For the most part I'm still after the same things. There's still that farm, eventually. There's still the family I wish I saw more. There's still fire, if that ever happens. But, I feel so disconnected from where I've been. I know I'm shutting a lot of this out and just letting life sort of wash over me right now. I know I could be feeling a lot more if I had the inclination to do so. But, it's okay where it's at. I spend my days driving around in my truck, playing fetch with the dogs, writing workouts, doing workouts, going to rugby practice, drinking beer, sometimes I see family, often I see friends. And I think that's enough right now. I have high hopes for this summer. I don't know why it matters so much to me but it does. At least the hope in it all.

1. branches smooth from being climbed hundreds of times
2. driving with the windows down

1. Baseball games.
2. My dog.
3. Hiking to a lake.
4. Fishing.
5. Rowboats.
6. Changing my own oil.
7. How crazy the sun is after a storm.
8. Running, sometimes.
   
9. Having no voicemails.
10. A good old hat.
11. Jeans that fit.
12. Maggotfest. And the fact it only comes but once a year.
13. Old second-hand stores.
14. Getting really into a book.
    
15. Sweating like crazy during a workout.
16. Being done with said workout.
17. The first beer after a rugby match.
18. Southern fiction.
    
19. Swamp pop.
20. Baking.

1. Hard rain.
2. Turning any sport into full-contact.
3. Eggs over medium and toast.
4. Pancakes from scratch.
5. Lilacs blooming in May.
6. The smell of a sweatshirt worn at a bonfire.
7. Being hydrated.

Stuff that is good.

1. Buddies.
2. That first day all the Dandelions open.
3. Wind storms.
4. The smell of fresh rain after it's been dry for a while.
5. Cold beer on a Friday night.
6. Eastern Washington fruit stands.
7. The radio.
8. A solid tackle.
9. Fresh ground coffee in the morning.
10. Fetch.
11. Blackberry cobbler and vanilla ice cream.
12. Rhodies blooming in the mountains.
13. Fast spring rivers and lazy summer rivers, one for watching, one for floating.
14. Clear nights.
15. Hammocks.
16. Fires.
17. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with Tim's potato chips inside.
18. Riding bareback.
19. A rack of hand-washed dishes.
20. Getting up early.
21. A full night of sleep.
22. Eggs in the nesting boxes.
23. Chicken therapy.
24. Horse breath.