Musica.

Yeah, it's probably going to be Brandi Carlile posts all week. Lol. I've been listening to her on a continuous loop for days now, for no particular rhyme or reason.

In other news, I can't find my suitcase. Or maybe I never had one? Who knows.

Emery

Em is staying with my dad during construction. Sleeping without her is remarkably hard. I forget sometimes, amidst her irritating 'I'm tired can we go to bed now?' whining, how strange it is to have to fall asleep without her here.

The animals all serve distinctive purposes. The fish keep me calm. The cats kill all the bugs. The dog makes me feel safe. This is intentional, and my life feels strangely off-kilter without her here. Maybe this is why I never get any sleep in hotels, I'm not sure. But I do know that I'm definitely wide awake tonight.

With any luck, morning will come quickly.

Song of the Day!

I dug a hole inside my heart
To put you in your grave.
At this point it was you and me,
And mama didn't raise no slave.
You took my face in both your hands
And looked me in the eye
And I went down with such a force
That in your grave I lie.


Feeling much better this evening. Spent some time with my dad and TOC, and all is right in the world again...and what isn't quite right yet, will be right soon. :)

All my love.

The World is Ending.

Not really.

But it certainly feels that way today.

There is entirely to much upheaval in my life right now. Construction starts tomorrow on the inside of my apartment, which means for the next 3-4 weeks my home will be invaded daily by a crew of construction workers, city inspectors, and other unknowns. All of my things had to be packed up and put away and my home no longer feels like it is mine.

My medical identity has been stolen and I am unable to make any progress on it until tomorrow which is driving me crazy.

I am also working at our sister facility daily this week, which I am excited about because I get to work with the Boss Lady, but it also means more change to my cherished schedule. This is not such a big deal, and I'm happy to help out. I mention it only because change is change, and I'm sure it's adding to my stress in some way, I'm just unaware of how.

I haven't been sleeping much lately, and the recurrent dream where my mother kills me has returned. I wake up screaming at least once a night, and spend my mornings shaken up over it. Last night in addition to the usual dream, I had a new one where I was trudging waist deep through a swamp trying to catch a rare and elusive fish with a team of scientists. All of a sudden a 25 foot long black snake broke the surface of the water and latched onto my neck. Its upper fangs went in just below my jaw on the left side, and its lower fangs hooked in below my left collar bone. The snake held its bite, but otherwise did not move. I held its body out and away from me walked out of the swamp, covered in blood. The lead scientist kept telling me it was a Teena viper, and I was insistent that he was just screwing with me because Teena vipers don't exist. However, he radioed emergency services who told me Teena vipers did exist, their venom was neurotoxic, and I was well and truly screwed.

He cut the snake in half and removed it from my neck. My central nervous system shut down and I died at the edge of the swamp.

I'm not really sure what to make of that, but it was unpleasant and I hope this is the last time I have to have it.

I don't dream much. Almost never, actually. And when I do it's usually just matter of fact dreams. LittleFoot goes to the grocery store, or LittleFoot does the laundry. Things like that. The exception is the recurrent dream where someone tells me my mother has died and I go to her grave to verify it. Then she shows up and stabs me to death cackling wildly and chanting prayers over me as I bleed out. I believe I have this dream more often than I am aware of as I often wake up crying with no memory of why or what I was dreaming of.

I wish I had never known my mother. That I could just live in an alternate universe where I had only my sweet and loving father to raise me. While I don't give my mother much thought these days, I still hear her voice in my head whispering she hates me when I get stressed out. And I can't seem to banish the dreams, no matter how I try. Such is life I suppose. This too shall pass.

I hope things are better with you, but I feel like you are trudging through the swamps of unending misery with me this week. That is lame. On the bright side, I will be there in just a few short days and we can forget the chaos that has descended upon us. Perhaps kayaking though the Sea of Orcas isn't such a terrible idea after all...don't hold me to that though. A duck pond may in fact, be all that I can handle. :P We'll cross that bridge when we get there.

I miss you dearly Dear Friend. All the Days. Some days, (like today) more than others. Say hi to Phil for me, I'll see you both soon.

All my love.
LittleFoot.

A Song for D-Day.

Well Dear Friend, it's D-Day!
The best day of the year!
I am incredibly blessed.
Today.
And every day.
And terribly grateful for everything the past year has given me.



thank you india
thank you terror
thank you disillusionment
thank you frailty
thank you consequence
thank you thank you silence

the moment I let go of it
was the moment I got more than I could handle
the moment I jumped off of it
was the moment I touched down

...

thank you india
thank you providence
thank you disillusionment
thank you nothingness
thank you clarity
thank you thank you silence

SIX DAYS
SIX DAYS
SIX DAYS
SIX DAYS
SIX DAYS!!!
*happy dance!*

See you soon Dear Friend!
Thank you for being so incredible.
You're the twin I should have had.
I miss you, always.
:)

Thursdays.

Well Dear Friend, I've been up to exactly nothing.

My knees still hurt more than I'd like to admit to, and my sprained ankle remains sprained. It's been so long since I had a sprain that I can't even gauge if it is getting better or remaining the same. Both of these things are relatively minor, and I don't really even notice it unless I think about it, but they're enough of an issue to make me cancel my Mt. Humphreys hike this weekend. (Something which I'm just slightly bitter about.) Instead I'm going fossiling, and then out to Wet Beaver Creek. It's a decent compromise, but I was so excited to have lunch in the tundra.


In other news, I've been knitting that godforsaken candle flame cowl pattern again. In white. WHITE. Why? Nobody knows. I dislike both the infuriating nature of the pattern, and the color white, and yet, I knit on.

I've also been prepping fossils and being sick.

Oh, and I've woken up convinced it's Friday since Monday morning.

I know nothing else. I miss you terribly, as always, and I wish I had been there today for all the excitement. (I know, Soon, soon.)

Until next time.
All the love in the world.
LittleFoot

R2R Rundown 12

Part 12
The Aftermath.

We'd stumbled out of the canyon well after the shuttles had stopped running. We called a taxi, but there were 30 or so people in our group alone waiting for one and the wait estimate was an hour and a half. Ick.

I text our leaders to let them know that we'd made it out safe and were waiting for a taxi. It was decided that because there were so many of us, he would just send the bus to pick everybody up. The bus arrived and we hobbled on. There was one group left in the canyon, we decided to wait for them to finish before heading back. They made it up just after 11 pm. We drove home exhausted and triumphant.

Upon reaching the hotel, I was too tired even to shower. I was starving but too tired to even think about chewing. I examined my blistered feet, (bad, but not as bad as anticipated,) text you, Dear Friend, and crawled into bed filthy and exhausted.



I did not sleep. At. All.

There was no position I could lay in that didn't hurt my feet. The sheets were too heavy on my blisters. I was famished. Ravenously hungry. And at one point I awoke to a pain that I can only assume was the result of my organs eating one another. The victory adrenaline was still coursing through my veins.

At 3:30 am I got up and somehow made it to the bathroom. I took a long, long, long shower. It felt amazing. I was super gross.

I got dressed and packed up my stuff.

At 5 am I was faced with a dilemma. I NEEDED FOOD. I wasn't sure if the hotel offered breakfast. The lobby was inexplicably located below ground. To reach it I would have to walk down the stairs from my room and across the parking lot. From there I had two choices, I could go up another flight of stairs to take the elevator down (up is WAY easier than down on sore legs), or walk down two flights of stairs to the lobby. There may or may not be food at the end of my journey.

The second option was to walk all the way across the parking lot then across the road to McDonalds. It seemed impossibly far away, like a tiny speck on the horizon, but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there would be food there.

I didn't even hesitate.

Antoline was up at this point, and she made the journey with me.

My legs, despite my best efforts, were barely functional. My brain said 'right leg step forward' but my leg seemed confused about what exactly it was that I was expecting it to do. My legs were so sore and exhausted that my gait was more 'drunken toddler' than 'exhausted hiker'. I was weaving slightly, back and forth. My calves were unbelievably tight, my knees were stiff and resisting the commands to bend.

Slowly but surely we made it across the road. We were rewarded with food. Sweet, glorious food. It didn't even matter that it wasn't good food. It was food. I was soooooooo happy.

We returned to the room, checked out and made it to the bus. Inexplicably, in a way that seemed to ignore the very laws of the universe, of physics, of biomechanics, some people from our group were out RUNNING. Jogging like they hadn't a care in the world. Like they hadn't just hiked a whopping 23.5 miles the day before. I scowled at them in disbelief. Then my disdain melted into awe. One day, one day I will be like them. Unaffected by distance and elevation. A monument to hard work. Yes, one day I too will conquer the canyon and waltz around the next morning as if it had been a mere cake walk.

I promptly passed out on the bus. I slept most of the ride home.

Somehow I made it to Dad's house, still coherent. I regaled him with my victory tales as best I could. I showed him all 600+ pictures I had taken. I collected my sweet dog. Drove home. And collapsed into my own bed.

I walked like a drunk for a couple of days. It was as though my legs had completely forgotten what walking was and were puzzled by the task. Tuesday I was at my most sore, and my knees were screaming at me. Wednesday all the pain from my blisters had vanished. By Thursday I was mostly better. My knees still whine a little at the end of the day, but I can take the stairs again without having to stop.

I miss the canyon every day.
It is on my mind constantly.
I can't wait to go back.