Saturday, 12 May 2018

An almost over-nighter outdoors ...

Alright! Back from … half of an outdoor experience :D It was amazing, but it was only half the night, so …

Right now a massive storm has passed, and we’ve hardcore f* through it, because I am a little uneasy during violent lightning and thunder and the General takes the opportunity to distract me by doing ungodly things to my body. I was up against the wall aside of the bed when the first orgasm hit me and it felt like I was chained to a rock with sea waves crushing against me, trying to drown me. And THEN he really came down hard, because I was not coherent enough to fight him. It hurts to sit a little.

But so does my shoulder, because that’s not the only pricking I’ve had to endure today – we had our second round of anti tick brain inflammation thingie. Luckily I overheard the radio ad in which they announced it’s another 50% off if you come in before 3pm. I also told G in front of everyone ‘Be brave!’ and the nurse looked at him, at this Khal Drogo creature, and asked, considerate: ‘You are afraid’? :D :D :D

I knew sleeping away from him for a while will drive him nuts :D I took the train again to his parents’ tiny farm yestereve, asking permission to set up camp beneath their garden, where the ground is flattest. (You wouldn’t believe how annoying it can get if you keep sliding off your arrangement.) It felt good to arrive by train; there was some sort of an old-timer convention, super cute. I got to my spot and began to set up the pitch. Didn’t put the tarp low enough, though. For the longest time it was okay. I was going to start writing and illustrating my log, but I could hear laughter and cheer a few houses away on the other side of the field. The General told me most of everyone is having a pre-birthday party at the neighbours, so I strolled there and I got loads of food. People sang folk songs and compared hospital stories.

Once I returned to the cot, I saw there was a fat pale spider inside, which I probably brought with me crossing the high grasses. I blew on the spider and the poor thing curled its tiny legs, afraid. So carefully, ashamed I probably spooked it, I used a grass bloom to sweep it to safety. I am not necessarily bothered by bugs, unless they sting me, but I am worried I will crush them unintentionally, which I do not want to do at all.

The 6 bucks blankie I brought instead of the sleeping bag proved unusually okay. I was prepared to be cold, in fact I didn’t expect to get any sleep at all, but even after it got cold, I just put the blanket I slept on over my hips and it was okay again. I hadn’t even started putting clothes back on. The sounds didn’t bother me at all: a hedgehog or a badger huffed and puffed pass me in a hurry, some of the cats came to see what I was up to, birds and mice hunted in the grass, crickets were going full throttle. It was beautiful.

The problem was hardness of the ground. Ye, sure, there are mats you can buy that are super cushy. I am not sure I want to be super cushy. A retard can be super cushy while camping, if they waste enough money on comfort. It kind of defeats the purpose of bushcrafting. I still haven’t proper stakes, so G made me cut my own out of sticks and branches. It worked perfectly. I can do this shit.

Not sure when I finally found a position comfortable enough to doze off, but when I opened my eyes, a tremendous man was standing not ten feet from. He looked so surreal, just a silhouette of trees, grass and this giant. (My cot was completely hidden in trees and grass on private property, there would not be any way for anyone to find me unless they knew where to look.)

“Have you had enough of this nonsense? Ye, you did. Come on, you’re sleeping with me the rest of the night.”

(He was at work until a little over midnight.) But we are not really easy sleeping in other people’s places (he was asked to stay the night so he could help out in the wee hours of the morning), so lying perpendicular on an L shaped couch, our heads rubbing and hands entangled, we hardly got any real rest at all.

The cot has meanwhile drowned in dew. I have no idea why, between a plastic footprint and a tarp purchased especially for this, the condensation gathered on EVERYTHING so heavily, the dripping pooled on the mat and the shoes and the bug net. Took me an hour to sun-dry the lot. Even the stuff that were not wet were moist, even my poor forlorn journal. That’ll teach me to set up cots haphazardly.

My plan was to finish the journal while he ran his errands, eat some and then walk back to town to catch a museum train home, but the vaccination invite changed that a bit. I began reading Bruce Springsteen autobiography Niko lent me while in line for the tick medicine, and it’s really well written. I’m about 30 pages in. It’s the exact opposite of the worst biography I’ve ever read – Ava Gardner’s by some fucking retard so called journalist.  

Sooo…. It was a lot more pleasant, the camping, than I was afraid, but I need to work on some crannies. I also need a fanny pouch, because (I didn’t bring the camera), when I was told to leave the backpack behind I made a pouch out of the buffy and carried everything but the domicile in there. You’re supposed to keep the fundamentals on you even if you detach from your pack. Plus my water canteen sits better on the fanny pouch strap than it does on the backpack strap.

Uh, did I tell you the other day I was chased by a bee? A fucking bee. We were raking hay and this fucking bee charged at me – you’re supposed to go stand in a tree – but I panicked so badly when it started hitting my head behind the ear, trying to get in through my hair, I just laughed, screamed and ran indoors … And the fucking thing was waiting for me outside the door for ages! A fucking bee!