binding

So I am back from my first camping trip of the year.

I thought that it would be a trip that provide me with "signs" which would subsequently open my eyes to everything I have been blind to--to the things that matter, to the paths I should take, to the people I should hang on to and let go.

But instead it was overshadowed by incredibly intense, vivid, and dark dreams. If I was smarter, I would look at these dreams as the sign. OR if I was wiser, I would realize that it is pointless to rely on or look for signs. That there are no need for signs. But I can't let go of my mystical Mormon upbringing. Hell, I will still sometimes utter certain prayers/phrases when I am terrified. By the power of Jesus Christ...

Religious blog post will be postponed for later, no worries.

Anyway, I think my caffeine buzz is dying. I no longer have interest in writing, just sleeping. What was I trying to "get at" in this post? Should I confess? Do I tell the details of my delusion? Will it even matter? I had good feelings about her this morning, while still resting in the haze of the unconscious mind. I thought we might be friends. I thought we would be those two with that too-crazy-to-believe-past that would, in an odd way, solidify our closeness. I thought it might be nice.

And then the desert air (biting at nearly 6000 feet) slapped me awake and I sighed with the realization that, no, that's not what either of us want. But do we need it? Hell if I know. We are all so peculiar, particular, private; we paint our tragedies perfectly without ever knowing where our mediums came from. The emptiness of the desert can only be captured an infinite number of ways, you know.