When the memory fades you can talk yourself into just about anything. Night comes with a darkening sky, then one planet and the universe slowly opens to me, first constellations then the background blanketed by millions of stars. I wonder how many thousands of nights I’ve layed cowboy camping staring at the same never ending clockwork of the heavens not once getting bored with my view from this tiny planet.
I’m on my bike now climbing never ending hills in hundred degree temperatures and monster head winds. Sookie slices through huge breaking head seas, I’m focused searching for deadheads, I’m in my element completely one with nature. Back at mile marker 43 I’m seven miles from finishing my first sub 12 fifty miler, I’m crushed. I’m carrying my best friends limp body away minutes after loosing the single best thing that has ever happened in my life, true love. I’m signing a piece of paper relinquishing a dozen hard earned years wasted working for money. It’s pouring rain, I drag my backpack through six inches of Nasty skank mud, my feet like suction cups stuck in quick sand. I make it fifty yards and drop the pack heading back to get the bike, I do this for 12 hours straight. I’m 19 years old sitting in the rain crying, my life will never be the same, scar’ed for life. I start a journey that will last more years than I’ve lived at that point. Each star represents a story in my quiver, there are many.
We’re all scared it’s what we are, it’s who we are. We aren’t just scared but we’re also scar’ed, If you are fortunate some day you will learn to love your scars both mental and physical, it’s our own personal brand. I was having a conversation the other day with a person who said they weren’t afraid of anything and made fun of me for being afraid of everything. Of course that person had never really done anything to merit the fear that I know and speak of. My fun meter has been pegged since birth and that bar seems to raised every day. I woke up at the crack of dawn crawled out of my sleeping bag to have pee and when I returned and flipped the bag open there it was, a huge tarantula my new snuggle mate. I’m beyond the point of screaming like a 12 year old girl but I wanted to, it explained the phantom creepy crawly feeling I had all night as I could swear something was in my bag with be but blew it off to itchy mosquito bites.
From the log of Sookie, Spider Island. I’m done with the outside; I’m moving to the city getting a nice flat furnished by ikea and the biggest tv ever made, a cell phone and a fancy pair of shoes…