I'm sorry, what ?
This morning I awoke to the realization that yes, vacations are an escape from your problems, because you don't really realize you have to deal with all this oncoming shit (life is essentially just a torrent of oncoming shit, correct?) that you happened to just drop before you left, eventually.
That day, is three days from now. Three precious days are left for me to transform into someone who looks like they have had a relaxing and enjoyable time, who hasn't been mind-fucked with various other things in their absence, and who is ready to deal with all the things not yet dealt with and abandoned.
And I will deal with the problems when I get back in a really unsystematic order, because I'm not that much of a callous jerk. They'll get solved, and life will be convoluted and urbane once again.
I will have better things to do than just drink, smoke up, and listen to other people plan private raids on grow-ops while they smoke and drink, and fuck around on ATVS at the same time. "Can I borrow your mag-lite?"
"FUCK. Just stop asking me all these fucking questions...and gimme your damn mag-lite!!"
"Lucas, what are---are you stoned? What are you doing with my goddamn flashlight?"
I've been thinking of my long-lost friend/roommate in the time that I've been gone a lot. When I get home, there will be a concentrated effort put forth for communication. I worry still though that we might need more time to get over the threshhold of "this is how much space I've needed from you." But it's cool, no rush.
Also, in the time that I've been gone, and blogging while I'm gone, I have really really noticed my writing taking a dip into shit, so there will be more concentrated effort in this area as well, although I have been writing a little since I came out here. I am bothered by the fact that I haven't written a good poem in a hell of long time still though, despite having several ideas. On the top of the mountain I had a good idea that I'm definately going to pursue. I ended up writing it on the back of a paper plate with a piece of charcoal I found on the ground. Ooh..it stinks like romance.
I think I'm also going to write a poem talking about the quality of being brave, and how this seems to change in our lives, and why that is. I think I could make it darkly humourous. Any commentary on this is welcome.