Date: 2004-12-02
To: angst-ridden doubts
Miles today: 0.0

6:30pm                                                                                        12.2.04        The strange, unpredictable convergence of happenstance circumstances strikes again. Random employment opportunities, through no active instigation of my own, keep falling in my lap. I¢m beginning to drown in them, to be quite honest. I still have a bit of work left at Royal¢s, but every time I show up to finish, he pushes it aside to start yet another project. Doug and Jen (the couple who led me to Dave and Carly) want some storm windows constructed and installed, as well as a bookcase designed and built. Carly wants shelves put in Nina¢s closet. And now I¢m going to be housesitting for Judy and Susie, while they¢re off on their Disneyworld (-land? it¢s the one in FL) excursion. To sum up -- I¢m booked solid. Can¢t quit my day job¢¦ Actually looking forward to some quality canine and feline bonding time. Cody and Spackle aren¢t exactly Woody and Annie -- Cody¢s slightly more neurotic than his doggy counterpart, and Spackle slightly less so. Poor Cody today. He had to be leashed, b/c Susie had an in-house meeting. He whined pretty much non-stop, and his tail-end wiggled and wriggled in nervous excitement. You have to wonder what goes through his brain, what thoughts flit around, like an airborne dandelion seed, carried away by the wind every time you attempt to grasp it. If the constant motion of his body (specifically, his hindquarters) reflects an equivalent mental activity, then it¢s no wonder the poor dear collapses in an exhausted heap every afternoon. And all the while, Spackle just sits and watches, lurking in silent observation.        Yesterday was quite the meteorological show. A night and morning of fairly heavy, constant rain, which ceased w/ an abrupt suddenness, as if a faucet was shut off somewhere in the skies above. A few light breezes blew off the cloudy overcast, exposing a baby blue backdrop, as the last vestiges of the leaky faucet dripped from overhanging branches. Then, the soothing, hair-ruffling gentle breezes were replaced w/ vicious, bone-chilling, biting, cap-stealing gusts. Crushed cardboard boxes, detritus from our cabinet installation, were swiped from the dumpster. Naturally, I was the one fortunate enough to first observe this (and therefore the one to remedy it), so I trotted down the street, collecting the debris and returning it to its dump-headed home (after properly securing them). Plastic garbage cans rolled down the street, in a modern parody of tumbleweed in old Westerns. But, despite the gale-force winds, I survived w/ very little ill effect (a brief power outage at home required the resetting of my electric clocks. Yet another disadvantage of modern technology¢¦). I do have to question the purported speed of the wind gusts. I heard claims of 50mph, but frankly, the wind I experienced hoofing over the Hump Mountain siblings on the AT was significantly more forceful. That day I felt like a much-abused ragdoll, being tossed about by a malicious mistress. To claw and fight my way, bent double, my feet a foot to the right of the trail, but my poles and torso staunchly and determinedly occupying the vertical plane of the AT, I trudged on, only to come face to face w/ a giant longhorn bull, sporting a 10-foot spread of potentially-goring horn. I was mildly intimidated. Sure, I had the option of turning around, head back to the winds that would likely sweep me off the mountain before long. But, I thought the red stuff sack latched to the outside of my pack might provide a too-enticing target for the old bull to resist. So instead, I crept (hesitantly) onward, one eye on the cow, and one on the nearest shrub -- my refuge should he decide to become mobile. But, he merely kept placidly grazing away. Just one more crazy biped wandering through his grass-laden buffet. Ah, my memories of the trail, so vivid, coming back daily w/ a fresh resurgence. I¢ve been invited as a guest speaker at Mom¢s other book club, for their Bryson discussion. Not until February. Which brings to mind the possibility that, at that time, I¢ll be planning for my upcoming departure to Georgia. It¢s becoming harder and harder to resist the temptation to commit, fully and wholeheartedly, if even only internally. But I hesitate. Something restrains me. Maybe it¢s fear, of raising expectations, in myself and others, again. Or fear, that I¢ve romanticized the experience too much, that time and distance and the perspective they offer have created ¢false¢ memories, exaggerating the high points and weeding out the low. But, to be fair, I remember quite vividly the miserable, sleepless nights, the bitter cold, the god-awful Smokies, I recall cursing as I slogged up and up and up, only to be rewarded by the lack of anything remotely resembling a view. And yes, I still want to go back, subject myself to that again. I suppose part of my hesitancy also stems from fear of disappointing myself and my family again. I¢m so unbelievably fortunate, blessed w/ so many things -- a supportive, loving family, wonderful friends, a job I enjoy, a great living situation, good health, a comparatively low-stress life. Why isn¢t this enough for me? It is. And yet I feel like I¢m missing a part of myself, there¢s an absence inside me, there¢s some undiscovered part of me. And I feel like I was on the path to finding that, delving into myself, my self, my soul this spring. And I feel that to deny myself the opportunity to discover me would be to cheat myself out of something amazing and enlightening and awesome.