I woke up one fine morning to a sea of black in front of my eyes. Not darkness, but pitch-black something. Aside from the confusion, for a hot second I sorta thought I had died. Then I realized there was something covering my face, so I reached up, and it turned out it was just Tinkerbell sleeping on my face. I’m guessing she was using my pillow as a bed, but then I was taking up too much room, so she decided to use my face, instead.
I wish I could say this only happened once, but Phoebe, who would let us use her as a pillow but then would chase dogs three times her size down the street, also had a liking for sleeping on my pillow. I once woke with her sleeping so close to my face that I had to wonder if I had foiled a well-planned attempt to smother me in my sleep. When I tried to move my head, she turned around, and bopped me on the head.
The moral of this story is that you shouldn’t let your cats use your face as a pillow, otherwise you might think you died.
I met a nice traveler, Jean Paul, and his dog while walking downtown today. He started off a conversation by showing me some of his art—a circle made of the words love, peace, and hope—and asking for a favor: one random fact. I told him I was really missing my cats today, but seeing a dog (or really any animal) made it a bit better. We got into a nice conversation, and he said that one of the best gifts people have to give, one they often forget about, is their own words and imagination.
I agreed; these gifts are some of the most readily available to us personally, but also those which we’re least inclined to share, despite the fact that they’re usually the most sought after by others. That being said, maybe it would be good for me to start sharing my words and thoughts more in real life. Maybe that’s something we should all try to do.
You know when you’re driving around, listening to Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” and then he sings “are there any queers in the theatre tonight?” And your mom suddenly points at you, and you start laughing because seriously, what the hell? And then she gets confused because it turns out she was just pointing to a dog walking down the sidewalk? That’s been my night.
Stephen Hawking “once stated that there could be an infinite number of parallel universes.” That being said, maybe there’s a universe in which we were together. Maybe there’s another universe in which I finally looked right. Maybe there’s one in which I turned out all right. In which we turned out all right. Maybe there’s a universe out there somewhere or somewhen in which I was finally happy. Maybe someday that universe could be this one.
My mom and I had gone to Walmart to get me a mattress pad. The one I wanted was out of reach on the highest shelf, so instead of doing the reasonable thing and calling up an employee to get a stepstool, I decided to climb the shelves to grab the pad. At first, this worked very well, and I was able to grab it. But in doing so, I nudged the other ones on the shelf, and they started falling, right on top of a stranger who was passing by at the time.
I was still clinging to the shelf, trying to offer apologies from four feet in the air. The woman was a really good sport, and seemed pretty understanding, though obviously didn’t find the situation as funny as my mom did. Then I handed my mom the pad I wanted, and I tried to hurry to get out of there before we literally got kicked out. But then Mom and I got into a little debate over whether or not the little pad would do much good, and we decided against it. So, basically I attacked someone with foam roll-ups for nothing.
I was very bored riding in the car when I noticed a lever on the side of my headrest. Naturally, I pulled it, and all it did was make the headrest fall and hit my head.
Me: What’s the purpose of this destructo-seat?
Me: Yeah! All it does is fall and hit me on the back of the head!
Me, in a in a robot voice: kill-kill-kill.
Me: All it does is hit you!
Me: Like, Bad human, you’re being stupid so I’m going to hit you on the back of the head.
Winner: the headrest/destructo-seat, because now my neck hurts from it slamming into my head and forcing it down.
This past week, my family and I went camping in Olympic National Park, a massive park primarily known for its rainforests. Naturally, I was sick the entire week, which kept my energy constantly low and made hiking difficult, but I still really enjoyed the trip. Although living in the Pacific Northwest has made me somewhat jaded towards massive trees, the scenery was so different from what I’m used to that I couldn’t help but be amazed.
We walked through rainforests, visited beaches and tidal pools…
…explored mountains (and came across a number of wildlife)…
…and gawked at dozens of magnificent waterfalls.
We only saw a fraction of the park, and my parents are already planning to return sometime within the next few years.
I’ve written before about how I use our camping trips to center myself, and this trip was no different. Returning home, I feel more at peace. Less anxious. More capable of handling whatever comes next. This is, in part, why I travel: because home feels more like home when I return.
Does it count as urban exploration if you're just exploring your rooftop?
Let me start at the beginning.
I have a lot of trouble sleeping. Between the sleep apnea (which often ensures I can’t stay asleep, meaning by early morning when it wakes me up again I’ll just give up and get up) and always taking at least an hour before I can fall sleep, it’s safe to say that sleep doesn’t consider me to be its best friend. Most of the time, that’s annoying, but other times, I can live with it… such as when I sneak out onto the rooftop to watch the sunrise.
Despite how often it happens, I’m not particularly fond of getting up early, but there are some perks. I like being the first up in the morning, where I can pretend I have the house to myself. I like the quiet. I like seeing nature breathe in the first life, and doing the same. In the end, I guess morning isn’t that bad.
I have no idea what I'm doing.