2003-01-21 - 10:33 a.m.
Why Can’t Every Day Be Thursday?
So there I was, thinking the last of the fluffernutter was behind me, when I stepped into a smores worthy of Sally Struthers after missing her post breakfast pre lunch meal. I wondered where the Go-Go boy had gotten himself off to, and wondered if that tongue might have been of service at this point. I would not be beaten though, and cast about with furious eyes for some means of liberating myself from this boy scout dream come stickily to life...
An unbelievably large golden retriever lounged by the campsite that was slowly starting to present itself to my eyes as they grew accustomed to the dark. Only embers were left of the fire, not enough to provide an abundance of light, but enough heat was left to keep my oozy prison from solidifying. Mayhap my escape wasn't as impossible as I had imagined. I reached down between legs stuck in goop, and fashioned the sweetest snowball yet recorded, which I casually tossed the five yards to the dogs lolling head. It slowly pulled itself out of its stupor to gaze sideways at the fluff ball laying about a foot away form its head. It sat bolt upright on hind legs, and once it realized feigning stillness at this point was not going to help, it bounded on top of the ball and devoured it. It sat back on its hind legs to lick paws covered in white, not at all noticing me only a couple yards away.
I let some air escape my lips, slowly at first, then with enough force to approximate a premature whistle. It was enough to get the attention of the ridiculously large dog, and it walked over to me and started to sniff down between my legs at the smores that entrapped me. It’s tongue flashed out again an again, but for some reason the jaws (large enough to use a watermelon for a cough drop), never once made a motion to rip off my legs.
Soon enough I was free, and even had a smile on my face. The Go-go boy I had left an hour ago could learn a trick or two from that dog. After toweling off with my shirt, and discarding my pants as a loss, I jumped up and reached up to pat the dog amiably on the shoulder in thanks. I was tempted to ask if it wanted a traveling companion, but figured with a tongue like that it was destined for bigger and better things. Fair enough, I was meant to be a loner. I pulled my emergency sarong out of my pack and made for the horizon.
It was at this point that fatigue threatened to kneecap me unless I collapsed then and there. Never one to take an order or threat easily, I kept on, and increased my pace. I was leaving a dense woodland, trees falling away on either side to reveal a valley I thought at first a painting till the cows grazing therein mooed and swatted their tails at flies. As I entered the valley and felt it for reality, I remained still just a bit skeptical, leaning down to rub the grass between fingers to see if they dissolved in green paint. Having dreamed many times in my youth of being trapped in a painting, I wasn’t going to be caught off guard. Yet the grass retained its solidity, at least long enough to become the real mush that follows such treatment. I wiped my green hands on my sarong and forgot about the painting nonsense, clearly just an after effect of prolonged exposure to melted marshmallow. I made a mental note to have the pool filled with the stuff upon my arrival wherever it was I was going, since it stood to reason that there would be a pool, since I had just made plans to use it. Yes, everything was coming along rather nicely, and I hadn’t even had my nap yet.
I awoke some time later to the sun’s light tickling my eyelids till the opened. Not remembering falling asleep hanging upside down from an apple tree was nothing new to me, and I took it in stride. Well, two strides, till I tripped over a pocket of hard air and landed roughly, in the middle of a stream that hadn’t been there an eye blink before. Never one to spur a bath, I gave myself a good scrub down, and thanked the cow to my left that handed me the soap, followed by a nice fresh towel. Feeling quite refreshed, I tossed aside my sarong and donned the towel proudly, knowing full well what a green towel on a Thursday meant. I let myself lean backward until the wind behind me solidified enough to take my full weight, then let my legs float up off the ground, and got ready to enjoy the ride. Why can’t every day be Thursday?
The ground waved goodbye to me as I took my leave of it, and then went back to napping. I waved for a moment, then, when I felt certain the cows could no longer tell either way, I folded my hands together and played a good game of poker against myself. Losing came not much later, but found me just as agreeable, having known full well I never won when I challenged one as accomplished in the ways of poker as myself. During the game the valley had faded away behind us, and we had followed the sun towards what looked from this distance to be an ice cream truck spinning upside down over the peak of a handsome purple mountain that must have been miles in height. I checked the towel for change, and then giggled to myself as I slyly pulled out a golden banana coin from behind each ear. My cries of delight and surprise slowly tapered off to a gentle chuckle as we circled the mountain, and I found myself quite indecisive as to which flavor I wanted. After ten minutes of this, I finally just told me pointedly we would let whoever served us decide for us. He or she or whatever certainly deserved something for finding such an amazing parking space.
The wind dropped me off without a bump or bruise, on a snowdrift that raised my face to the upside down window of the truck. Snow always makes me sweat, so I loosened my towel while I waited service. Soon enough an amazingly cheerful old man poked his head out the window, twisting it like an owl till his face was right side up facing mine not three inches away. He held down his hand to forestall any request, and held out for me to take an ice cream cone overflowing with pink Oreo pistachio rumpled marmalade ice cream. I feasted on this miracle of modern wonders, only pausing long enough to respectfully decline his offer to pour hot melted marshmallow on my treasure. All too soon it was gone, and I felt it time to be once again on my way. I patted the truck on the rump, and stepped onto the fender that fell from it as it started down the slopes towards what I could only hope was certain doom. Certain doom was something I had been chasing for years now, but it eluded me like a unicorn. All my life people had taken one look at me and said I was headed for certain doom, and after reaching a nice round age of 26 and not having been there yet, I set off. Certain doom would have me and like it, or I would have a word or two with someone who looked important someday, you mark my words.
Letting out a whoop of exhilaration, I braced my legs somewhat securely and maneuvered through the snow, darting between trees and jumping over rocks and other obstacles. The speed increased the further down the mountain I got, and by halfway I was racing ahead of my own gleeful shouts. Now this was a high and rush unparalleled, and I was seriously rethinking the whole pool idea with a mountain at the bottom of it instead of the marshmallow. Such thoughts were swiftly swept out of my head, as I comprehended what was looking back at me. At the base of the mountain a gorge laid, completely encircling the mountain, and it seemed extremely pleased with itself for just that reason. A Hundred yards across and seemingly bottomless, it gloated there, content to keep the mountain where it was, and others away.
Well, let it be said that I don’t take too kindly to the oppression of anyone, most especially geographical locations. Places and things should feel free to roam where they felt the need to be, and no one should stand in their way. I felt this situation needed an immediate remedy, and scratched myself thoughtfully, since that seems to help sometimes with the flow of ideas. One came to me about a hundred yards away from the gorge, so I jumped off the speeding fender, and grabbed it up and put it safely in my pack, not intending anyone should have to face a gorge that was entirely to pleased with itself alone. I reached deep in my pack and rooted around, past the blender, the laser printer, the rabbit farm, to the left of the filing cabinet, and just beyond the pillows. Just as my reach was at its end, I finally felt my hand touch and then grasp hold of a rolled up piece of thick paper, bigger then many a poster. I slid off the rubber holding it shut, and laid it out, whistling with respect to the workmanship and time put into such a thing. Not to mention the pretty colors and sweet smell of old paper kept well.
I was still admiring my find when the gorge got curious and sent out a thin crack in the ground to see what I found so interesting. I could tell by the smug look in the granite that it wanted to be center of attention, and since I wasn’t complying, it intended to find out why and set things right. Not one to tease, at least not while still partially clothed, I turned the paper to face the gorge, letting it see the map without preparation or warning. It recoiled as it realized what exactly it was a map of. The map showed the progress in surrounding countries of gorges many times the size of him over the past three thousand years. They were all going without question towards where he had been for the past few centuries.
A moan that soon molted its pride and became the shriek of a spoiled child was coming from the center of the gorge. The noise reached a crescendo and then ended with the word “Father!!!” echoing within its own walls. The gorge slid under ground, covering where it had been with stone and dirt followed by grass before finally disappearing into the stratums in what would probably be the fasted way away from the approaching gorges. I must admit I had at first only thought to play upon all gorges innate fear of bullies. The fact that they had actually been the parents of this brat made me smile like I hadn’t done in at lest 20 minutes since the ice cream.
The path clear ahead of me, I felt the need to be on, so I gave the mountain a stout salute, and was once again on my way. I rolled the map up again and threw it back into my pack, wondering when I would ever get the chance to finish coloring everything in. I had only gotten to draw half the gorges I thought would set off the ocean to the left rather nicely when I had run out of gorge brown. I shall say no more on this, since it was still after all Thursday, and that color has been hard to find since my sister had tried to paint a gorge around our house so no one would see her with braces, oh so many years ago.
The sun was shinning, birds were chirping, and the breeze smelled of flowers and grass. Despite all that, I was enjoying my walk immensely. It had been an hour since the mountain, and was two past sunrise. An hour ago I had found a pair of shorts in the pillow case near the back of my pack, and was more then a little happy to find them in good taste for the occasion. Which occasion I am referring to, or was so certain would come then I don’t know. I have since forgotten, and at that time I just felt like something big was going to happen, for which you need the right shorts.
I rubbed my hands together in anticipation and let my imagination run a little. Perhaps the old man had made a new flavor, and needed me to be the first to test it. Perhaps the dog had gone and fetched its pups for me to read to. Perhaps a traveling troop of exotic male dancers would hop out of the bushes and yell “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” and dance with me. Better still, maybe it WAS my birthday! I didn’t recall the last time I had had one, but it did seem like about a century or so ago. Maybe it was due time. All these fantasies pleased me to no end, but after all were thought and undone, I still, deep down, hoped that the Big Thing was Certain Doom waiting just around the corner.
To my disappointment, the corner, once rounded, yielded nothing more then a couple dozen highway robbers, waiting to do who knows what to me. They growled their threats and charged me from that many directions at once. I was thinking about something else at the time, so didn’t notice when as well as walking forward, I was walking up as well. No one else noticed either, and I stepped into the air upon my friend the wind just as the entire band came crashing in from all sides, with a crash that brought me out of my deep contemplation. I looked down past my boots and saw the array of men in various states of confusion so entirely tangled up together I began to wonder where such hard torn men had had the chance to learn to crochet. Non the less I applauded loudly, wished them well in their endeavors, and started towards that point in the horizon that always beckons me.
6:58 p.m. - November 21, 2003
11:55 p.m. - November 15, 2003
8:23 p.m. - November 15, 2003
3:38 a.m. - November 10, 2003
7:46 a.m. - October 27, 2003
