Yesterday I didn't write because I was sad, which is odd because sadness usually means I write way more, often words I soon regret once that li'l storm cloud passes. And it always passes, PS. Post Script. Except I am not in the post script part of my post. Or something. "Or something" is a good way to wipe the slate clean. Just say "or something" if you don't want to do anymore thinking or backtracking.
Backtracking. Take out the "tr" and throw in a "p" and that's exactly what I need to be doing soon. Not necessarily want to be doing, but need. Backpacking is a big old test to see if a) you can survive and b) prevent blisters. I like this test. "Like" might not be the write word. Any backpacking trip is immediately met with anxiety (because that seems to be how I meet anything/anyone in my life), but then stubbornness kicks in and I go, "Let's do this shit and let's do it right." Going on prolonged trips out there under the mostly unpredictable sky where you carry everything you need for your survival is a good way to cleanse the mind of all its petty gunk and to see what it is your need to see without any filters. Ideally. I (or perhaps my soul, if that is a thing and if that exists separate from the I) need this mental purification. Or at least a decent brain dusting and polishing. (Where to go and with whom and when and how and what and all of those are yet to be decided.)
HAPPY CHOCOLATE CAKE DAY!!! Or whatever. Or something. Chocolate cake is not my first choice. I want a Funfetti cake or an ice cream cake or even a German chocolate cake, but not just a basic chocolate cake. And if some bozo gives me a slice of chocolate cake I will FREAK OUT. Kidding! Geeez, I'll take any kind of cake -- who am I to be so picky? Eat your damn cake, Meg. (And also I love you, Meg.)
You know what? That paragraph on backtracking-minus-the-tr-add-the-p has sure distracted me. Now I just want to go outside, even though suburbia is slightly less thrilling than the Grand Canyon or whatever. Or something. Still, I planted that seed of being out in nature in my head and now it has turned into a ginormous redwood and the branches are sticking out of my ears. I have to take this crowded head outside and give it space to roam. The trivial things I was planning on writing will have to wait because I can't wait.
If you consistently read my blog, then you deserve a medal or a ribbon or a bow for your beautiful hair. You even deserve not just a slice of cake, but the whole thing. Or something.