Tuesday, March 22, 2011

She Prose to the Occasion

I'd like to try this, but as a wall paper, each part telling a story or capturing a memory or picture.

I haven't appreciated my Christmas or written poetry in so long. There's this notion of the home is where is the heart is and your roving heart and heart as self, but I can't quite put it into the perfect words yet. Another notion is sex and sexuality. I can't pin down my thoughts anymore, what it means to be female and love men and have biological, instinctual needs and realizing that my deep appreciation for the human body is merely an appreciation for the bodies that house beautiful minds.

For everything I do, it's not enough.

I feel at ease with most kids. I never realized.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Sore Feels Good

This weekend saw me backpacking twenty-two miles of the Appalachian trail, sixteen of those in a single day. Upon arriving, kids walked around in t-shirts it was so warm an evening. The campfire was more for aesthetics than practical purpose. Greg scared We made Jiffy Pop. We played Never Have I Ever. We went to a 7-11 in Maryland and got communal beer. Ah, the great outdoors. Sleeping conditions were unpleasant. The first night, I sprawled out on a hill with Sara and Ti. In the morning, we woke up to find ourselves sprawled slightly farther down that hill and also on rocks. However, excitement for the morning cheered our souls, as did the vision of everyone sitting up with their faces popped out of sleeping bags like tube worms. It was a long day, but a thoughtful one. There's this rhythm of avoiding rocks and thoughtless movement. Thoughts were being processed, but not individually examined. I ran through my life plans, and where I find meaning in my activities. I feel less sure of my self, but better about that place. Arriving at our final shelter for the night was some sweet elation. As ladies out numbered guys nearly two-to-one, it was a proud moment that five of us had reached the summit first. Unfortunately, a pack of Boy Scouts ran like madmen to beat us to the shelter. Fortunately, we have more balls than them, and intended to sleep out in the open anyway. Darkness was longed for as an excuse for sleep, but it was not meant for that. Our newly constructed fire pit heard campfire songs for at least an hour. We did not sing exclusively traditional campfire songs. After running out of camp tunes, we included such hits as "Bed Intruder Song" and "Verdi Requiem" (as two of our members were in the orchestral choir). Sleeping was again, unpleasant, but the morning held promise of conclusion. Hiking three miles down the mountain, trodding tender, we reached a near Shangri-La, a four mile flat trail that followed the Shenandoah River. It was gorgeous. The very last leg of the journey took us across the river on an old rail trestle. I napped the whole way home and am sore. Also, I got pinkeye.

Fun Fact: I wore my sports bra straight through 8:30 Friday morning until 5:10 Sunday evening. I was a little noxious at the end of the trip, though the group unanimously confirmed that statement for themselves.