Sunday, August 4, 2013

Post-Bedtime.

My greatest failure has probably always been and still is:

Bedtime.


It is apparently urgent that I stay up and write that:

-  There was a great wildflowery hill run all about on Suicide Hill.

-  Then there were two Very Bad "runs" which don't deserve any attention, but it seems dishonest not to declare their unmistakable notoriety.  Fuck off, bad runs, you suck.

- One of those was actually after a thunderstorm in the evening and the high meadow filled with a fantastic eerie mist. Even amid slightly troublesome moments, I still love the hell out of where I live.

- Tonight, when I asked my person-I-needed-to-meet-with if she had any interest in running during the meeting, she said yes!  I think I can like meetings now...

- Slept under the stars last night along with a little pack of Friends Camp teenagers.  One had never slept under stars before!  Awesome to be there for the wonder of the first experience to such beauty.

Laying there, gazing, I asked them about beautiful places they'd experienced.  One girl had just gotten back from hiking on the lava fields at night in Hawaii.

Another had never seem shooting stars or fireflies.  That was easy enough to remedy...!

The starless kid was 17 and a great story teller.  He will go far.

Another kid, a younger one with a fuzzy, white, monster hat of some sort, was coughing all over the place.  I hated myself for being selfishly-angry at his sickness -- because I knew I would be the first to get it, if it was contagious at all.  I spent a long time that night quietly demanding to myself that I Change.

I played bass out in the field for a long time before getting ready for star-sleep.   I sorely needed to awaken my hands and re-find the music in the instrument.  It had once again been many weeks, maybe over a month since I played.

It helped.

And there is so much to Change, indeed.  I think there may be attention-battles between the things I Can change, and the things I Can't.

Back to the kid -- my misguided stress about his condition signaled my own need to Redirect:  Simply:  I hope the kiddo feels better.  It was just a cold, but still.  He was the sweetest kid.  His name wasn't Jack but I wanted to call him Jack.  He comes up north to Maine from thousands of miles away to go to FC.  His father is apparently non-existent.

I couldn't get him to eat an orange but orange flavored Emergen-C got the thumbs up and a smile.

Friends Camp's aura, in any amount, is all sorts of re-centering.

Task #1:  I must strategize some vesping.
Also task #1:  Go the fuck to sleep.

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