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I woke up and she was gone, her sweet voice is nothing but a distant memory. Nothing remains but her familiar smell. Maybe I’m unlovable… I spent the morning editing my journal, cancalling orders and going through my gear for the upcoming ride.  Loneliness has engulfed my life but so is the nature of the long and lonely open road.  Humans always want and talk about achieving thier dreams but in the end the dream is always more important than the reality.  Having something out there to hold onto helps us pass the time from cradle to grave in the perceived safety of routine.   I’m a bit different, my dreams are my reality, my constant drive to live free is exhausting.

I’ve been writing this journal in one form or another for over ten years now.  I’ve said this before, telling the truth and being completely honest and sharing it with the world is like standing naked on a pedestal for the whole world to judge you. This is where so many writers fall short. I’m reminded of Hans Christian Anderson and his short fable The emperor has no clothes. So many writers are so full of shit that they actually begin to believe their own misrepresentation, they live in the Achilles heel of the fable of thier myth.  My story is different, it’s true and often it just plain hurts. Sharing it hurts, living it hurts, and the constant failure hurts but not enough to give up.

I’ve never done a crowd funding for myself, I often need to or at least would like to but the truth is that I’ve failed so many times on such a monumental scale that I just can’t put it out there, I can’t take the risk at others expense so I do what I have to to fuel the journey, to keep a bit of food in my belly and a roof over my head. I highly support crowd funding and occasionally support ones that I believe in here on my journal, maybe I just don’t believe in myself.  Yesterday I sold my most prized posseion, my beautiful and much loved Brompton. Today my camera gear goes and tomorrow my ukulele.  That’s the cost of the expedition, a small price to pay and the knowledge that I’ve created my life through my own constant struggle and occasional hardship makes the pie that much sweeter. It makes it real and on those soggy windy days with one too many flats, far too many miles and more cold and more suffering than I bargained for… I know deep down that everything I have is through my own creation, through my hard work, dedication and the many long days where I’ve traded my life’s units to fund the next semi adventure. I owe nothing to anyone.  I suffer fools and critics more often than I should, more often than anyone should.  I don’t beg, borrrow or steal, I own my life and live it on my own terms. I simply live the best and most honest life I know.

I have a small pile of C-notes.  Most of my projects are done on Sookie for the year and she is ready for her spring expedition. I’m never ready, I always wake in the middle of the night with a pit in my stomach and a wild fear of the unknown. If I know anything it’s that there is always much to fear but not enough to keep me from stepping of the cliff of the next journey.  Through my constant failure I’ve found solace in this life and it’s given me what so many writers lack, an authentic story.  My eyes are red and puffy as the gravity of my situation gently pulls the tears of loneliness down my cheeks, my heart hurts, my brain hurts. I can’t help to wonder if there is anyone out there or will I just die alone and if that’s my story then I’ll live it and write it and share it because that’s what I do; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health…

From the log of Sookie. Hurt…

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