On Sabbath we all got to go to church.  Most of us helped lead out song service, and then Jerrod preached.  Afterward, we participated in potluck.

That evening, Anthony and I were at the top of the hill because I was trying to take pictures of the dome across the river.  Then we heard howls and barks.  Anthony was off to investigate.  I followed after a few minutes.  Each of us worked our way down the hill in our own routes trying to spot the coyotes.  It was good times.  Later that evening, Jiffer walked her dog and saw the louder of the two coyotes out in the oval.

Sunday morning I went with Derek and Kristina and played soccer in Oakhurst.  It was all fun and games until I forgot how to run and tweaked my ankle while taking a random step.  Ridiculous.

Sextuple Stitch

We were unexpectedly woken up early Saturday morning, and since we couldn't go back to sleep, I made Anthony come down to Indian Camp with me to teach me how to use the bow drill and make fire.  We didn't get far.

The knife blade slipped while I was slicing off tinder and the top of it scraped against my left hand.  I looked down thinking I might've scraped it pretty good, but it wasn't too bad.  Then I glanced at my right hand and noticed that the blade was sunk into my index finger.  Anthony said he could see fatty tissue and that I'd probably need stitches.  Curse words in the head.  No fire.

Fortunately for me it never hurt at all.  Except when the doctor gave me the shots and when he sewed the sixth stitch.  That pinched a bit.  Unfortunately for me, my finger's wrapped up like a mummy every day while I split wood and dig holes so that it stays somewhat protected.  Unfortunately for everyone else, I'm just a big inconvenience all around...

And that's the start (and end!?) of my life's injuries.  A couple dozen stitches and a handful of broken bones and non-functioning wrists short of my brother's list, and just a fraction of Anthony's own illustrious bodily sewing career.  Maybe he's rubbing off on me.

In other news, the temperature's dropping and I burned my arm on the wood splitter today.  (A reminiscer (?) of a younger brother's happy kneeling on the lawn mower a couple years back.  Bah haha.)

Day Off

Ran through the forest and up and down the hills

Finished that one movie that was beautiful

Satisfied by breakfast in dark, quiet cafeteria

Explored the rocks by the river

Read Orson Scott Card under setting sun

No progress made

I was given permission to accompany Anthony on a short trip to Loma Linda this past weekend, so now, within the past few months, I've seen old friends in the four corners of the States:  Seattle area, Collegedale, Berrien Springs, and now Loma Linda.  I gotta say, I think Loma Linda may be winning in number now?  It's pretty amazing to me how many folks are out that way.

Sabbath lunch was a nice get-together.  Everyone was happy and, I think, kind of satisfied to have all the people around them that they did.  We were all enjoying ourselves.  And then some part of my brain and body that I am not always able to control decided to burn poor Janelle's arm with one of those long red fire starters before I knew what was happening.  She knew what happened though, quite clearly.  That event set me back to the hermit stage for a long time, and I'm sure the effects are not over.  Nevertheless, Janelle is a trooper and friend and I think she forgave me and will be fine, so I was able to enjoy the rest of the weekend in spite of myself.

Now that I've graduated and been away for several months, it's been interesting seeing friends.  Everything's different of course, and not just dependent on me.  I'm certainly able to verify that I am progressing much more slowly than the average acquaintance in basic knowledge and practical skills of living on earth amongst humanity.  This is somewhat discouraging, but I am impressively impervious to any inspiring or motivating qualities this realization may carry.

Sitting at the table here, still with a banana to finish in order to complete my meal, and with Anthony already having scarfed down his meal, had a couple or three conversations with co-workers, and run somewhere else to work on something else, it occurs to me that I really do take life more slowly than the next person.  I wonder if this is a quality that will come back to bless me in, oh, say 40 years, but until then, it doesn't seem to carry with it any noticeable benefits unless I'm unemployed, at home, with just the cat for company.

Is growing up worth it?

PS:  Interestingly enough—to me anyway—we didn't take a single picture this weekend.  That's a curious evolvement.

So, I'm at Wawona. Will just be here a couple months to work with Jerrod on random maintenance things.  Frankly, I think they're hooking me up, the poor, lazy, lost soul—and I'm very thankful.  Getting back from Peru wasn't too bad, I didn't think.  Being in the Seattle area and interning at World Vision seemed to go fine, I thought.  But then getting "home" again to Michigan—that was when I had time to especially waste time, and I sure did it well.  

I'm quite prone to paralysis when I don't know how to proceed—if I'm faced with something a little daunting or completely new, or these days it can just be having to talk with people that I feel completely inferior to and out of touch with.  Which means most anyone.  So I've been at home just being at home.  No job searching or soul searching.  No networking or shadowing.  No journaling or praying.  Just existing with the cat.  

Somehow it worked out to come here, and my hope is to refocus a little bit.  I'd like to get used to working again, and maybe feel like I've got potential somewhere, even though I'm obviously not going to be the immediate genius creative mind I must have grown up just assuming I'd be "someday."  Yeah, whoever/whatever gave me that impression:  you suck.  I think encouragement is good from people, but I'm realizing that some folks (myself) need a different kind than what I guess is society's standard.  You make me lazy.

Jerrod gave me the chainsaw, explained some things, and put me to work.  My forearms are shaky and my back is tired.  Go work.  Anthony and I are going on a run in a little bit.  I'm pretty excited about running here.  And it's nice to be back in this environment.  I'm just going to try and be better here.  Maybe that will mean more writing.  Maybe just more working.  Maybe more thinking.  Maybe slowing down?  I think I already take life pretty slowly.  Pretty freaking slowly indeed.  What's wrong right with me?