Updates Because I Can

Quick little update post because I was about to tell Krista she should blog so I can talk to her by reading what she says. I don't even read many blogs though, frankly, nor do I ever write. So who am I to say such things to Krista? Fortunately, I didn't.

The past couple weeks have been good. We're getting fewer groups here at camp, so we're having more time to work on projects we didn't have time for previously. I've tried to keep the Glacier View Ranch Facebook page going with pictures and some updates, and I started an Instagram account for the camp, too. I'm also going to reprint some pictures for the hallway outside of the cafeteria. One of them was of the hot tubs. Wow. So nice.

The yellow he-cat is kneading my belly right now. Oh, he's done. Just plopped down on my hands. Thanks cat.

Maybe I'll find something to study here at the University of Colorado. Running mecca. Plus, then I can say C U Later all the time and it'll be hilarious.

Or maybe I'll move to South America and visit Stephen sometime. There's a lot of good running down there. Plus the language is pretty and the people are pretty and the places are pretty. And it's cheap.

Or perhaps I'll go somewhere else and do something else. Maybe I'll be an astronaut with the now-defunct space program. Isn't it kind of shut down???

Mom is flying in to Denver tomorrow. We're going to trek up to Wyoming to see Great-Grandma. Then we'll drive back down and hang out until she leaves Thursday to see the brosef. She has a birthday soon. Then sister does, then brother does, and then a couple months later does I.

I asked a question tonight when I would rather have just kept staring at my phone. I read a blog post the other evening where a runner lamented our society's dependance on their little screens. As Eustace says, we ought to be living in a world of circles, not squares. Outside the box, in other words. Coffins are boxes. And I want to get out of that box. Paul (right?) said he stopped thinking like a child at some point. Will I ever?

Now the cat's in his favorite position: ultra comfortable.

Now I got cats, cats, cats, cats, cats, cats, cats.

Pulling Weeds

Defeated, escaping, hoping no one sees
Breathing short, heart on fire
Fists in my gut want to scream
and punch
and flail
and break
and kill

Blinded, rushing, roiling in the chest
Thinking thunder, Earth too small
Furious raging living tempest
it sears
it cuts
it shrieks
it claws

Heated, shuddering, falling to knees
Swelling eyes, hands are splayed
Whispering lethal obscenities
I'm done
I can't
I hate
I quit

Cheated, splintering, reeling toward the trees
Writhing hatred, mind entrenched
Soul fierce longing for peace
and quiet
and still
and pride
and me

And then.

Knowing it would come, it did. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. Why not? Rage. But the sun, it's warm. The valley, it's rich. The mountains, they're bright. The stillness, it's here.



It's a rough cycle, though, getting beyond-frustrated at insignificant things of the day's small tasks, then loathing the self for allowing the fury to begin with. And on and on and on.

Am I such a simpleton that I can't brush it off before it explodes? Is there some monster inside me, growing how big who knows?

It hurts when you can't think much of yourself and if you ever do, you quiet those voices and knock on wood... as if they really knew. And now in reflection, it's always so silly. What a joke, what a funny, he just hiccuped today, that's all. But then really, really, really, is that all it is? Because you know it returns. You know it's not gone. You know you're just pulling weeds.