2003-09-02 - 9:23 a.m.
My plane got back yesterday. What can I say. I had the best time of my life and I want to go back. And I will, next year. I'm going to ask for it off today though.
My ankles hurt from walking to the beach and back, and to the other beach, and up and down the beach, and out into the spongy mossy forest. Everywhere I went the earth seemed to sink under my toes obligingly. My arms and face are burnt from the sun, after I got scorched the first day I tried to keep to the shade or carried around steve's black umbrella like some kind of fancy victorian vampire. At night we all layed on the grass and watched the stars, and mars, and the milky way, and the meteorites, all clear and bright as ever, twenty five miles from anything. E&J put on an amazing fire show, spinning and breathing fireballs all over the place. Then we went to the beach again and did some more sky watching. I carried back the half-full sand covered bottle of jack daniels just feeling good. And when the wind and rain whipped around my tent I thought, "Hey, this is what tents are for."
My right hand is cut up a bit where I fell on some barnacles when I tried to get a better look at some big crabs who were fighting in a tidepool.
On my last night there I laughed myself to sleep after maybe too much whiskey, singing a song I made up about losing my mule in the vestibule.
That's not even half of what happened really, and none of it's in order. I could probably write a book about it if I needed to, but I definetly don't. I'll be sad when all these little wounds fade away.
The best part was being there with the most amazing friends on earth. What's better than people you can just be yourself around? People you can be anyone you want around. I miss em allready.
Guess it's time to get ready for work again.
Listen to: "Call me Al" -Paul Simon
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