I don’t like Mondays. Period. But that being said, this particular Monday hasn’t lived up to the vileness of its recent predecessors. I largely imagine that it’s two-fold. Work hit it’s pinnacle of suckiness last week and has no place to go but up. The second is that I leave on a vacation on Wednesday, which means I am sort of … *whispers* … dialing it in for the next couple of days. Not to say I am not taking things serious, I am just not taking things serious – to the point that my blood pressure rises to cataclysmic proportions. The waves of — depression? funk? blues? – have abated a bit which is like stating the Titanic has stopped taking on water. It might seem like a minor fix to some, but for those of us on the ship, it gives a chance to collect our bearings and breathe again. I still cry easily, and I am still paddling around a bit, but my head is above water and that counts for more than you know.
I realized that my last few posts have been on Monday’s and that they have all had an emotionally downward turn. While this is my blog and I can write about whatever the hell I want, I do feel this sort of social responsibility to place a little bit of levity in here from time to time. I mean who wants to only focus on dark art? Throw a flipping clown in there. – Wait, halt on the clowns. While they don’t frighten me, they make me uncomfortable at best.
I’m heading camping this week. Five days of hot, river drenched, tent camping. Some of my friends, those who have known me for less time than others, find this hysterical, because I have a sort of .. princess reputation. But truth be told I tent camped much longer than I ever resort camped in a travel trailer. I love camping. I mean I love it. I love the outdoors of it. I loved the comraderies of spending time with like-minded people. I love the smell of campfires, and fresh air. I love getting up in the damp early morning and having that cup of coffee and listening to nature awaken.
When I first started to date someone who loved camping as much as I did, but did it in a trailer, I laughed. I pooh-pooh’ed the concept of camping and trailers going hand in hand. Camping was earthy and nature driven, I boasted, while trailers were simply small hotels on wheels. Then I tried it. My argument suddenly felt like someone who had grown up living on cat food, trying to extoll those virtues onto someone who was trying to convince them to try filet mignon. There was no basis of comparison. I still had the fresh air, and nature and campfires. I still had the kinship of other campers and hot morning coffee. Only with a trailer, I now had the added luxury of a bathroom, of a decent bed, of air-conditioning and most of all – protection from the elements. I think we rarely used the indoor portion of the trailer for anything other than slight cooking, sleeping and bathing, because fortunately like me, he preferred the outdoors for camping. It wasn’t long before I looked at those who tent camped and that is where my Princess reputation was born. Well that and my love for air-conditioning.
In a few days I shall touch back on the roots of my first love. I’ve actually invested in my own gear this time, weighing the pros and cons of size and price vs need. I figured if I was going to do this, I was going to do this right, because I am greatly hoping this can become something I love again. Those in the galleries laugh at the size of my tent, or mattress and whisper Princess, but I remind them, “I don’t plan on doing this alone for the rest of my life, so take your laughter and gleefully file it under fuck off.” — whoops maybe that is a little more fueled than intended. 😉
Recently, in trying to figure out what the triggers were for my bobbing on again/off again depression (I hate using that word, let’s call it …. slight melancholy, that sounds less imprisoning), I found many of the things I truly loved – things I had passion for — were calmly and neatly wrapped up and put away when that last big break-up occurred. A year and a half ago. I didn’t do it in anger or angst. I don’t even think I did it in recognition of pain, or the end of the relationship to be honest. I didn’t decide that my camera suddenly held demons. I didn’t find that music festivals brought out the worst in me. I most certainly didn’t decide that camping was the boogey man. I think I just found that the person I did these things with for years wasn’t around, and I accidentally dropped all of my happies into the box filed Yesteryear. Now 18 months later, I am wondering where my happy went, and VOILA – it dawns on me.
I need to see if these things still hold the happy for me, because at worst they still can be joyful events. Yeah it’s going to be a tad different. I’m going to have to ration out the use of battery operated fans, in lieu of air-conditioning. I’m going to have to have my mattress blown up, instead of just being there. But those things that make me content will still be there. Ultimately I am looking for only a slice of contentment. I’m not greedy, and I can share.
Maybe after this venture I’ll get me a couple of tickets to a concert. Who knows. The world has the potential to once again, — be my oyster. This camping trip just trigger that.