Training and the Like

So sometime tomorrow I leave for a three day outing to be sleep deprived and under-fed. Should be fun. Lights out at 3am, so I'll be up again. Might write some. I finished American Gods and I've been mulling it over in my mind. I recommend it. Anyway, with all that business done, I'll need to occupy my time. I didn't bring another book and everyone else seems to be entertaining themselves with some other form of media.

I snagged a box of brownies that I've been gorging on. They're pretty rich, so I may not finish them all by the time we leave tomorrow. I should have help, though.

My ruck sack is pretty fucking heavy. The price you pay for being in charge of all the radio equipment, I suppose. I don't mind too much for the quick outings, but when we'll have to walk about 15 miles (rumored) through the soft desert sand with nearly 70lbs on your back, you get a little irritated.

I need an outlet. Not electrically speaking. Just something to relieve stress. I have a membership for a massage place, which helps, but it's a once a month thing. And I haven't gone in a couple months. I used to go shooting, but I don't have a firearm in Washington (or at least not one I can use whenever I want) and without the right people around, it loses its comforting capabilities.

I get to see my folks for the 4th of July. That'll be nice. I'll meet them in Portland along with a close family friend who lives in the area. Not sure what we're doing,  but seeing them will be a welcome change of pace. And hey, no sales tax in Oregon, so that's always a plus.

When I get back to Washington I may go for a long drive. Not sure where. Just some place to go. Someplace new. Maybe Canada. Haven't been up there since I was 3 or 4, so I don't really count it as a visit. The only thing I can recall was getting a happy meal with a camera in it. It was a neon green, single-use camera. Thinking about it now, that's probably one of the coolest happy meals a kid could get.

Anyway, we'd driven up, my parents, brother, and I, back when the folks were still together. I looked up to see a flock of birds. Couldn't tell you what they were, but it may have been the first time I'd seen them flying in a "V." Or at least the first time it ever intrigued me. I turned my camera skyward, clearly not knowing at age 3/4 with a disposable camera the only thing that would develop on the film would be a blue sky with, at best, a few specks on it. But hey, let a kid have his hopes and dreams and imagination, right? Wrong. What I got instead was my dad practically screaming at me for wasting film and a sad Andy. Then, perhaps for the first time, I wished I was those birds, flying in that "V," if only to escape the over-reacting, overly angry paternal figure that chose to hammer in the point for god knows how long that you don't take pictures of birds up in the sky with a disposable camera that you got in a happy meal. Fuck your childhood and your imagination. Just get in the car and look at Canada.

Fuck you Dad. For everything.