Something of a fantastic weekend.

With Mom out of the house, and the cold pressing on the doors and windows, I decided to take it easy this weekend. Quiet and content, I haven't had a weekend alone in a very long time. Most Saturdays of the recent past have been spent sitting on Martha's couch watching movies from my instant queue on Netflix. She'd get home around 7, and then we'd watch more movies, or grab a bite to eat. Those weekends are nice. Great even. It's nice to go down there and chum it up with the locals for a few days and then beat back to Raleigh on Sunday and do laundry and sit on my couch.

But this past weekend was going to be a guy weekend. I was going to go to Lowe's and look at locks for the doors on the house. Maybe even buy some and drag the drill out of its closet. Screw some deadbolts and chains. Maybe even one of those industrial strength hotel door latches. Maybe a couple slide locks for the top and bottom of the door. Dredge some wood out of a wall and bore screws and throw instructions away. And after that, maybe I'd go to Circuit City and threaten to buy a large flatscreen TV and hook it up and watch the Time Warp guys blow stuff up, or watch some football games with the sound way up, or turn it over to Discovery HD and watch a stream run in high definition. Watch some salmon swim upstream. This was to be a guy's weekend. I had three bottles of Orangina (my recent drug of choice), a pint of Ben & Jerry's and some pizzas. I could sit around and scratch myself and make Tim Allen grunting noises.

Instead, Martha came up. She got out of work early on Saturday, and drove up to see me. I had spent the day watching movies and cleaning up the room after a long week at work, coming home and throwing my clothes on the floor before heading to the shower to wash the flour from my face. As soon as she got here we threw our coats on and headed over to Circuit City. If you haven't heard, and are wondering why that's my new favorite place, they're closing. So, everything is being liquidated. And that means sales. And that means cheap flatscreens. Throwing the dreams of going to DC in March to the wind, we walked in and browsed through the options. I have a new credit card, and the limit was well within the range of buying a TV that night. But, as she tends to do, she talked me off the ledge of irresponsibility. I can't imagine how poor I would be if she weren't around. Actually, when she wasn't around I spent some exorbitant amount of money taking some friends to dinner, and regret it to this day. They could have paid. Well, they probably couldn't afford it, but I had fun, and the food was awesome. I digress. Martha looked at laptops because she refuses to buy a Mac for some reason. Haven't quite pegged that down. Can't put a price on quality. So, dipping in and out of the herds of consumers, we ducked out early, and headed to the grocery store. Martha got a bottle of red, and I got a can of white. Cream of mushroom soup, so not so much white as mushroom colored.

I made Swedish meatballs once home, and it went over well. Apparently, when love is in my heart, I can cook. If it was anything in a sauté pan, forget it, but baking meatballs and heating a sauce is well within my culinary range.

We ended the night by watching Sunshine and eating our dinner. We discussed family as I baked off some oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. I was running some test batches to find the correct baking temperature and time on a standard oven. I never can seem to get it right. These came out crunchy, so I need to up the temperature, I think.

Oh, and Sunshine; if you haven't seen it please do. It's all I want to talk about these days. I can't

believe it wasn't more popular when it came out. It has an amazing cast and the story is incredible. And the soundtrack is beyond words. Just the right blend of all of those aspects. If you liked Event Horizon, this is the thinking man's Event Horizon, minus black holes and ghosts.

Sunday, we had a plan. We were going to eat well and have cultural experiences. One of those experiences fell through. Durham was the destination, and the Intergalactic (yep) Jewelry and Bead show was in season. But we needed sustenance first. Earlier in the week I had been reading an article in the News & Observer about the hot new restaurants that have made the grade in the Triangle in 2008. Watt's Grocery was at the bottom of the list because of price, but held its own on food quality. Everything is either locally grown, organic or fair trade. So, you don't have to feel guilty eating there, and it probably tastes better than Pizza Hut's new organic, fair trade pepperoni pizza. I had their signature breakfast of two free range eggs, on-site smoked thick cut bacon, a made from scratch biscuit, homemade raspberry jam and hash browns. The portion sizes were responsible for a small restaurant. I didn't want to be too full and have a miserable, gassy day. I was full, but not stuffed when I left. They also had fresh squeezed orange juice which is very good (but how can you screw up orange juice, really?) and their sweet tea is some of the best I've ever tasted. In fact, it's a close second to the Vortex's honey sweetened iced tea. Martha had the bowl of grits, which looked excellent for being grits. It was covered in cheese, an egg and avocado. Some of the other options were bacon crumblings and green onions. I highly recommend checking out Watt's Grocery the next time you're in the Durham area.

And I'm glad breakfast was good because we were about to have our hearts broken. We drove downtown and parked, paying two dollars for a lot that should have been free over the weekend, but they had a sign saying there was an event going on. Indeed, we thought there was an event going on. The Marriott, as the paper said, was going to host the jewelry and bead show from 10 to 5. Martha was psyched, but as we walked further and further down the halls of the Marriott's conference center we grew disheartened. There was no bead show. There were no people, and when we checked with the quiet front desk attendant she simply said, "No." We walked out, and tried several calls to local events coordinators to no avail. We walked back to the warmth of the Marriott lobby where we were greeted by a doorman. A creepy looking doorman with the skin of a red head and pale blonde hair. His facial hair blended seamlessly with his skin tone, and his voice was that of a young, fresh Tom Waits. He informed us that the newspaper had been wrong and the bead show was the previous weekend.

Close to tears we both went back to the car. Now, Durham, it was war. We drove off, with the hope that somewhere something cool was happening. We had some six hours to kill before the central purpose of the trip, which was a play by the Paperhand Puppet Intervention troop.

Chapel Hill was calling us both. Namely, A Southern Season was beckoning with its warm, soft, thin-veined hand and we answered. Not before checking out Trader Joe's. Martha was not impressed as Oscar Wilde was not impressed with the Atlantic Ocean. I purchased a chocolate shake from Evo's, and enjoyed the hell out of it. It was so rich and pure chocolaty. After leaving Trader Joe's we drove on to A Southern Season and picked out utensils for our future home. Teapots, spatulas, pans, wooden plates, etc. They were having a sale of 15-75% off the entire stock of the store. We didn't buy anything. After Southern Season we walked through the mall and dropped in on Cameron's. They had some cool stuff, but nothing too cool. The coolest thing was probably the skirt with Obama's picture on it. Martha was close to buying it.

Dinner rolled around and we wanted to experience Fishmonger's. I've lived in North Carolina for approximately 13 years now, and I've probably known about Fishmonger's for 12. Never been. Never tasted. Not even at the Taste of Durham festival a few years ago when it was right across the street. Oh well. This weekend was it. We walked in, frozen from the cold, and preceded to stay just as cold inside. It's not very well heated, being a very authentic shoreside seafood restaurant. Martha had the sampler platter of crab legs, clams and peel and eat shrimp in Old Bay seasoning. I had a pound of clams. They were massive. Heavy to pick up, even and I'm a pretty strong guy. We also had fried jalapenos, which ended up being the downfall of the meal. We ate them, and they were fantastic, but our waiter, as well as the rest of the wait staff refused to refill either of our drinks. Martha got a second cup of hot tea, but between us we had one iced tea and one water. I needed more. My mouth was on fire and the ranch dressing wasn't helping. I had to stop eating them and wasted a good portion of the bowl, which I wouldn't have done could I have subdued the pain a bit. Oh well, the food was good, and the atmosphere was

inspiring.

Onto the end of the night, we saw the new Paperhand Puppet Intervention show, The Hungry Ghost. It's the story of what happens to the greedy in the afterlife. This would be Martha's first foray into the PPI experience. Altogether, I would say this isn't the best first show to go to. It was heavily reliant on shadow puppetry, which I enjoy and am impressed by when I see it done well, but it can get laborious sitting in a room staring at three little circular screens for an hour and a half. The scene stealers were two life-sized, greed-seized humans that were full-body controlled. They were contorted and blown out of proportion to symbolize their greed and gluttony. Very well done. I enjoyed the story, but can understand how the first-time viewer might be bored. We'll have to go to their summer show when it's outdoors and more visually capturing.

I had a great weekend with my girl. Guy time is every night these days. I sit in my room and watch Batman cartoons. I get to do what I want to do. When Martha comes around I get a glimpse at what life will be like once I've given up some of that freedom to co-habitate. I like what I see so far.

Target: is there anything they don't sell?

I suppose we all have them.  It would just be nice if there were some way to forget them aside from growing old and adopting a policy of Alzheimer's.  If life were more interesting I probably wouldn't sit around and ruminate on these things, but as it is, I have approximately 8 hours a day to do nothing but stand around and think of these moments.

Martha and I have started playing Monopoly online while we video chat.  It's much nicer than phoning one another and the misunderstandings that tends to bring.  One weekend I drove down to surprise her.  I think I was still off work and living it up for one more week.  I took some extra days off near the end of my convalescence to see her for her birthday.  As per usual, I was at her house on Saturday while she worked at the hospital.  I decided it would be fun to go out and run some errands.  While I was out I picked up Monopoly: Here & Now Edition.  It looked cool.  I wanted to use the Prius piece.  I'm a marketing whore.  Put the word "new" on something in a yellow explosion outline and I'll try it.  Well, Martha got home, and she saw the game and got excited, but not as much as I expected her to.  She wanted to return it for the regular old Monopoly.

We got in the car and were on our way to return the game.  In the return/exchange line she confided in me that she felt like a pettish child for wanting to return the game and not being satisfied with the gift she was given.  We talked about the movie Babe and the little girl that cries because she doesn't get the dollhouse from the catalog she saw.  Instead she gets a beautiful hand made dollhouse that is one of a kind and made with love.

I told Martha about when I was little and we were close to poor.  I think this was after we had been using food stamps to get by.  Anyway, we weren't well off by any means, but Mom got us through.  We were shopping at Target for something after school and work.  This was back when Mighty Morphin Power Rangers had just come out.  We're talking old school ones.  Before the White Ranger showed up, so super geeks can calculate a range of years by that information.  The toys were the hottest thing.  Those big action figures that didn't fit the scale of any of your other action figures.  As if to say, "I'm the new kid on the block.  Better get all of these or else you'll have a lone giant amongst your puny hero toys."  The red ranger was my favorite, and I had to have it.  I went back to the toy section by myself and found one!  I took the oversized box back to my mom, and asked her if I could get it.  She looked at it, and looked sad.  Now, I think there might have been something else going on that I wasn't aware of, but I have no idea what.  Perhaps money problems or problems with her current boyfriend.  I don't know.  Anyway, she simply said, "I'm too tired to argue with you about it."  So, being a little kid I was like, "Cool!  I win!  Free toy!"

Even now, I feel a tinge of sickness welling up in me, and I just want to cry and tell her I'm sorry about that.  If I could have I would have paid for it myself.  If I had known what was going on I never would have asked.  If I had been a more mature and caring child I wouldn't have this weight on me now when I think back on it.

I try and go out of my way to be nice to people.  I often give up my own desires and happinesses so that others will feel fulfilled.  I can think back on that incident and mull over how horrible I was as a child and feel sick to my stomach and sad.  I do it often.  Too often, perhaps.  Mom got me two things that day: the red Power Ranger, and a crushing sense of humility.  I think I sold one off, or gave it to one of my friends as the years went on.  The other I keep close at all times.  Whenever someone tells me I've done a good job, or when someone compliments my various talents I think back on that red Power Ranger.  I smile, and thank them, but know that like the Power Ranger, that compliment will fade.  I have to be happy with what I already had, and that will last much longer than any instant gratification.

Quote of the day

Mandy: We should do something non-baby related.

Travis: Yeah.  You know what the opposite of babies is?  Guns.

Idiots

I'm minding my own business slicing today, right.  Just like I do once a week, every week at my job.  I'm slicing, ho hum, dum dee dum, do d'lee doo, and then this story comes on This American Life about not immunizing your kids.

Stupid.  What kind of self-absorbed person do you have to be to think that you have some say in whether you immunize your child?  Is there no greater good?  Are you that person that I smile at and you just walk by like I'm transparent?  Did object permanence never really kick in, and you think that when you shut your eyes everyone else goes away?  Well, you can close your eyes all you want, but it will just make it that much easier for me to hit you.

As I listened to the story it became abundantly clear that these people's ideas had no practical basis in a functioning society.  They talked about not feeding their child hormone infused milk and meat.  They talked about organic foods, which can mean several things, and working at Whole Foods I know this.  They even mentioned Whole Foods, and I almost started yelling at the person being interviewed, as if my headphone acted as a microphone as well, and they would hear me.  And then I caught myself and realized that would be about as stupid as these people.

Apparently, a year or so ago, there was an outbreak of measles.  Awesome.  And sure, there are outbreaks of diseases all the time.  It's just that measles kill if left untreated.  The flu doesn't.  A cold doesn't.  Chicken pox doesn't.  And this family got it by taking their kid to Switzerland on a trip.  One of these idiot families that doesn't believe in immunization.  When Andrew Speaker boarded a plane with drug resistant tuberculosis the nation was enraged.  The CDC got reamed for how they handled the situation.  And yet, children can go overseas and pick up diseases and bring them back here, and no one steps up and says boo?  What?  There are people that can't get these immunizations.  Children under 1 year of age, for instance, cannot get the measles immunization.  Their little systems can't handle it.  Like honey.  But, these anti-immunization parents don't really care about your newborn.  They'd just as soon see their child live with a horrible, and easily maintained disease before they see your weak baby live.  This is one of those instances where Darwin was wrong.  The adapted species did not win out.  The stronger did not conquer.

Let's hope when we are able to manage diseases such as AIDS and cancer, these parents step up and say, "No.  We will die happily knowing our bodies are chemical free.  Give us chemotherapy and radiation, but I'll be damned if I'm going to take a shot that will keep me from getting the disease altogether."  Let's join hands and work to decrease the population of idiots.

The Nitrogen helps me remember funny things....

Remember when we were driving back to the dorms and I wore your riding helmet and pretended to be a severely fancy, severely retarded person?  You laughed and laughed, and could barely drive, and it was a good, warm day.  I miss you like that.

This type of stuff creeps me out.

This is handwritten!

I'm camping. I'm a camper. I camp.

Now that I'm a few weeks removed from it, I can sit back and reflect a little bit with ya'll.  August 14th through the 17th I spent in the Smokey Mountains of North Carolina camping for the first time ever.  In my life.  Ever.  On Wednesday the 13th I left my car with Lesley in the morning so she could get everything packed, and she dropped me off at work.  It was a beautiful overcast day, and it was cool for a change.  This summer has been wicked.  Humid and hot, with very little relief.  There was relief this day.  Work couldn't go by fast enough that day.  Of course I was busting ass to get out early, or at least on time.  Luckily, we had been having some slow weeks.  I don't even think we had started the mini-cookie marathon at that point.  We were out by 5-something, and Lesley and I were on the road with Coco.  She made me drive the first leg.  Probably a good idea in hindsight as I had tons of energy, and would have just fidgeted in the passenger seat for four hours.  At this point in the afternoon it had started spitting rain, and I was at peace with the world.  I was leaving town, soothing my gypsy blood with a girl that means the world to me.  And the mountains make her smile, and when she smiles nothing could be wrong.

So, we're on the road, fast, cool, listening to something awesome on the stereo.  We stop on the way up for dinner at a Chili's.  We had a waiter that reminded me, somewhat, of Clarence Greenwood.  That was cool.  I don't think Lesley picked up on it.  We had the old flying or invisibility conversation, and I started geeking out on superhero powers because I was pumped about being on vacation.  I'm actually getting pretty excited just sitting here writing about it because of all the cool that is coming up.  And all the heartbreak and intrigue and mystery too.  (That's just to keep you reading.  Cheap writer's trick.)

Back on the road with a meal in our stomachs and a large, grey tarp courtesy of the good people at Big Lots, we were well on the way.  I was now a little subdued by a big mouth burger and several iced teas.  Comedy on the stereo.  We played some Patton Oswalt, Bill Hicks, Henry Rollins and Nick Swardson.  Nick was funny.  I had never heard his stuff before.  The farting ghost gets me.  All the way through Asheville and on towards Brevard, the rain had subsided a little.  Then, the directions got all screwed up.  Google Maps told us to take a left instead of a right, and suddenly there's this biblical flood coming down and we're trying to get to the campsite by 11 when the gates close.  Yes, it was 11 at night, raining and woody.  We were also at a higher elevation, so if we had been trying to bake brownies we would have had a tough time converting the recipe for high altitude baking.  But, that wasn't a problem.

Lesley decided, with her irrefutable sense of direction, that we should go back and try right instead of left.  The campsite might as well have been on the fucking road.  It's just aimed at our asses, and if either of us had better eyes we would have seen it in the first place.  So, we screech in and I hop out to register.  Lesley walks the dog.  It's raining still.  The people at the gate are incredibly nice.  I would have liked to stay at the gate longer, but it's been a long day at this point and I want to sleep in a tent with a wet dog.

So, we get to the campsite.  This place was nice.  Kind of the Marriot of camping sites.  Don't listen to me though.  It's still my first time, but it was pretty nice compared to the other campsite we stayed at later that trip.  Clean bathrooms, nice site, good people.  It's shitting rain now.  It's shitting rain, and it's getting caught on the leaves and collecting and then falling on us.  So, we're trying to set up a dry tent to sleep in under a waterfall.  Coco is smarter than us, and she's trying to sleep in the car.  She's a city dog.  Luckily, the tent only takes two minutes to set up.  The air mattress is blowing up (yeah, I'd love to tell you we roughed it on the gravel in sleeping bags, but... no) and we're trying to keep the sheets and bags dry.  Everything gets set up, I check out the bathrooms and we tuck in for a night of listening to rain fall outside, and being cozy in a tent.  Kind of perfect for my first ever night in a tent.

The next morning, Lesley wakes up and walks Coco.  I get up and take a shower.  Before we left I had really only slept at the house the week before we left.  I hadn't taken a shower in a while, and I wasn't going to wait any longer when there was one just sitting there not being used.  It was great!  Like the showers at school, but timed.  I had to keep pressing a button to keep the water going.  After a while it got to be pretty cold standing in the morning air with soap all over.  I got out, and Lesley made breakfast.  Eggs, toast and tea.  Pretty sweet.  I think that was the last time I had hot tea.  Damn.  I need to get back on that.

After getting the site cleaned up and talking with our neighbors a bit, we started out for the nature center for some hike recommendations.  An old man with a comforting voice told us to go see Looking Glass Falls, and also recommended a hike.  The falls were cool.  The water was ice cold, and people were swimming in it.  Coco freaked out with all the noise and people, so Lesley left me to wander the water.  I waded in and took some shots of the falls.  I enjoyed the loss of feeling in my feet as I wandered the water bed.  Tingly and sandy.

We left the falls for the hike that was recommended to us.  Little did we know it would take a couple days and we'd have to eat Coco to stay alive.  I think the guy at the nature center said it would take a few hours.  I guess I didn't anticipate a few hours feeling so long being on windy, uphill trails.  It felt like it took nine hours.  It was beautiful the whole time.  We stopped at the halfway point, and walked out on a ledge for some unleavened bread and water.  We talked about how Jewish we were being.  We spent a long time just looking out at the sky, the eagle's soaring and searching for their next meal, and the peaks of distant, blue mountains.

The hike down was arduous, and seemed longer than it should have.  We were all pretty tired.  At this point it was getting close to dinner.  The sun would be setting soon, and we had to get some provisions.

We stopped at the store for some essentials: wine, sprouts, tomatoes and pasta.  We got s'more ingredients, which ended up being dinner.  Neither of us were hungry, and s'mores didn't involve turning on the gas stove.  Before the sun went down too far, I ran up to a nearby Wal-Mart and got some chairs and Connect Four.  Lesley has a thing for Connect Four and her back was bothering her, hence the chairs.

The rest of the night we spent talking about the past and what we've missed of each other over the years of off and on again friendship.  The whole trip was spent doing a lot of that.  I've just felt like I missed so much of her growing up and becoming this great person that she is now.  And it was voluntary.  With my little ten year obsession, I've always left and disappeared from her life when things looked like they might hurt too much.  That's who I was.  I'm not interested in being that person anymore.  So, I'm soaking it all up; everything I can, happy to be back with my friend.  We caught up on relationships and talked about things going on these days.  It was a good night, and we ended the evening with a few rousing games of Connect Four.  It was a good night.  By far, my favorite of that trip.

The next day we picked up camp and headed off to Asheville to find our next campsite.  We planned to see Luke that night.  We would all meet up in Asheville.  Lesley was trying to get in touch with an old friend, Chad, so he could meet us as well.  No luck on that end, but we did have an easier time finding the campsite this time.  The only problem was that the free campsites a little further down the road were much nicer.  Mostly taken, but nice.  We drove up and down the mountain, and all around to find one that wasn't spoken for at this late point in the evening.  Finally, we came across a pull off on the side of the road.  Lesley noticed it, as I was about to drive past it.  I jerked the wheel, and slammed the E-break on.  I ran down the path to the site, and I wish I could tell you that there was someone there and I peeled around the corner screaming and waving my arms, but it was empty.  I walked back up and told her to grab the shit out of the car, and make a flag because we were claiming it.  I wish I could describe just how beautiful this site was.  Nestled in the crevice of two hills, it sat, dark and cool next to a large stream.  Several small waterfalls dotted the stream at the edges of both fields of vision.  Over the fire pit were two downed trees, creating a sort of canopy.  Tall trees and lush, green leaves surrounded us.  It was so peaceful.  If I could build a Tumbleweed home there, I would.  Maybe someday if George Bush keeps selling off national protected land, I will.

The plan to visit Luke got sideswiped by the late hour, and the fact that my phone was totally dead.  Instead we cooked pasta, and tried as hard as we could to make a fire from moss covered, wet wood.  We went through a free NC map, a cardboard box, some phone books and a couple marriage licenses trying to get the thing started, and it just fizzled the whole night.  Lesley's back was getting to her, so I took over on the pasta.  Made way too much, and ended up feeding a mass of it to Coco the next day.

The site was beautiful, and it was a good night.  Except for one thing: Banshees.

Around three in the morning (and this is coming from Lesley because it didn't wake me up, and neither did she) Lesley awakened to what she describes as a high moan on the wind.  A chilling sound.  Apparently, this went on for a while, but she dozed back off, not fearing for our safety.  Later, about six, the noise started again, and was much closer.  Lesley awoke again, and so did I this time.  I can't sleep too late outdoors.  Thus is the problem with camping.  Aside from the early hour, this time the moaning and howling was much closer.  I won't try and scare you with the details.  We were scared enough.  Especially seeing as we had a dog in heat in the tent with us, and soon there were footsteps outside the tent.  Heavy footsteps.  Something large.  We just laid there staring at each other.  I made sure I knew where my knife was in the tent.  Eventually the noises went away, and Lesley dozed back off.  I started to think about some stuff, and it began to piss me off, so I got up and went for a small walk down to the stream.  I sat on the rocks and tried to get my head together for a while.  Soon, the footsteps were back, and this time I didn't have a thin fabric between me and whatever it was.  I turned to find a hound.  It was a pretty dog, but looked worn.  It was cold and wet, and it found a pile of leaves to lie down on.  The two of us sat thinking about the problems of our life.  I was on vacation.  Moreso, I was on vacation in the mountains of North Carolina with a girl who I've loved for damn near ten years now.  Why was I thinking about problems in my life?  Because there are problems.  And my head never shuts off, which can be a blessing and a curse.  Consider yourselves lucky, drunks and drug users.

After a time, I attempted to get the dog to follow me back to the campsite.  He slowly got the idea, and eventually followed me everywhere.  I talked with him and gave him some loving pets and pats.  He seemed a little more content.  Once Lesley and Coco came out of the tent, the hound took a liking to Coco.  Didn't care so much for Lesley, but what are you gonna do?

We took the name off the transponder collar the dog had on.  Unfortunately, a tracking collar only works to about ten miles out.  These dogs had come far.  Lesley and I were going to go down the mountain and get some service to call the owner.  A few sites down, we saw that there were some very similar dogs that had treed a cat.  We found out that they were the same owner's dogs, and had just gotten separated.  The man at the site had been watching them, and was waiting for the owner to show up.  We went back to the campsite and took it down.  We were going to go to our original site that had already been paid for, and was less remote in case something bad actually happened.

That day we spent on the Blue Ridge Parkway... wait.  I missed something.  See, now I'm too far removed.  I actually just texted Lesley to remind me of the course of events.  In actuality, before the banshee night, we had spent that day driving to various locations.  Lesley wanted me to see this drive she loves.  It was beautiful.  It was everything she had said it was, but she wasn't too thrilled with it this time around.  I don't know why.  We drove through Hot Springs, where she and I had last spent any amount of time together before reconnecting in Raleigh these years later.  We hiked up Max Patch, and looked out to the horizon.  You can truly see why they are called the Great Smokey Mountains from up there.  We withstood the wind and chill to have some flatbread, cheese and cucumber sauce.  It was a beautiful afternoon, and the point at which I started to fuck up and get nervous about my head messing with me.

Up there, after hiking all that and doing nothing but smiling and having a good day it just seemed right to kiss Lesley.  After the recent stint, it didn't seem like it might be too far off.  Later, I would admit this urge to her before we drifted off to sleep, and she just smiled.  And to this day I don't know if that meant, "Aw, that's cute" or "Don't do this shit now and ruin it."  I fucked up again when we went to see Luke.  All night I felt like something was clicking again, and I tried to hold her hand on the way back to the campsite from Brevard.  I might as well have been holding the gear shift.  I didn't even get a squeeze back.  It's hard when you're driving in the fog of the mountains to come to terms with the fact that the one person you want in the world no longer wants you back.

So, we got back to the campsite, and I was a little peeved.  Couldn't sleep.  I read for a while as she slept next to me with her dog cuddled between us as a barrier to any other stupidity I might try that night.  Rest assured, reader, your narrator Humble Humbert did nothing despite his irritating natural persistence, and the anger and sick emptiness had worn off by morning.

But how was the time with Luke?  Amazing.  His friend Lyndsay was visiting as well, so we all went out to a local spot in Brevard.  The meal was excellent.  Catching up was even better.  I miss that kid, and I'm jealous of the life he has out in the mountains.  His job seems like fun, getting to travel.  He'll be down this way soon, and I look forward to seeing him again.  Like I said before, either Lesley is a great actress or she was truly happy.  You can see it in the eyes.  I think she had a great time, and this is what gave me the confusion.  Sometimes I just misread people so bad I get lost in my own fantasies.  It was a great night, nonetheless.

The last day we spent with Coco at the North Carolina State Arboretum.  It was a nice place.  Duke Gardens is nicer.  But it was fun.  We had some IHOP that morning.  The drive home was uneventful until the phone calls started and the problems of the world started flooding back in.  My mistake thinking past decisions would make things easier.

Despite all those later issues, I had a fucking amazing time, and I miss being up there every day.  I definitely need a life where I can pick up and leave often.  Nothing soothes the soul like a short getaway from all we create here in civilization.

A big thank you goes out to Lesley and Coco for being my traveling buddies.  Couldn't have done it without you, Lesley.

What waking up alone is like.

So, the big plan for tomorrow morning is to make up a big bowl (where the hell is my nice, big, black bowl?  Who took it when we moved?) of Cocoa Puffs and eat them slowly, creating a pool of semi-chocolately milk.  After that, I will have another bowl of cereal, but the second go-round will be Frosted Mini Wheats... in the chocolate milk... with a huge spoon for an optimum milk to mini wheat ratio.  Very cold orange juice would be good with this, but I think we're out right now.  Frosted glasses of orange juice.

Disses

One should probably never use the diss, "Your mama is so fat she far outweighs the evil humankind does to one another."  People don't really know how to take it.

A little prose poem while the fumes are floating

I stared at the small of your back religiously for a portion of that summer night.  That portion where the sky lay on your dress like my head rested on your shoulder.

The crux of that smell I've torn down your home for.

The crux of that smell and your Confirmation and coupons.

The crux of that smell and the promise of twenty cents off.

Ah, inflation as you stand and your dress hangs off your breast.  Outside, the wind might flutter the hem, reaching to be touched.  I swear I would count the stitches through the hardest morning eyes, scared of falling back to sleep and holding all of you in for ten more hours.  No water.  No air.  Just the sand of the cruelest myth.  The one that brings you how I want you.  Because all we do is sleep like june bugs whose legs are too long and excited, and we toss and turn ourselves in a dervish of sleep.  I know these cuts are from you.  You can't hide forever, though you came close, hidden behind those bricks and mortar, away from the arcs of light keeping us awake.

Yes, I stared at the small of your back religiously for a portion of that summer night that has become such a microcosm of the domicile you gave up and I dwell on.  And you were gone until just then.  This may be hard for you, but it's not killed me yet.  A decade spent remembering you, and cold hands and the dugout where we held them, and your unaddressed letter (it was sweet).  The circulation in my legs is gone, but I won't need them.  All the shores I will conquer have come and gone, in more capable hands now.  You'll find I am no ruler, though I have, with confidence.