Due to lack of sleep, my mind shot off on a tangent I can’t really account for. I spent most of the last week alternately thinking that I should go home and get some sleep, and that what I should really do is thru-hike the Appalachian Trail.
Yup. That Appalachian trail. And yes, the complete, un-censored thought was that I should hike the whole trail. All 2000 plus miles of it.
If there’s math in your head, I’m not surprised. I’m more of a day-trip kind of a girl. Go out to a state park, spend a few hours hiking, wave at the eagles and the bunnies, and then home to a hot shower. Do I own a sleeping bag? Well, yes. Technically. I mean… I think most of it’s still there.
Yeah. The math–with very fuzzy numbers–says that we’re talking about seven months, but maybe I can get a leave of absence? Or… quit? (Hmmm…. kinda a lot of my daydreams start with quitting.)
And also, there will be Zombies!!!
Oh. So, that’s what my Muse is up to.
My Internal Editor, on the other hand, is quick to point out that there are quite a few steps between where I am, right now, and any kind of a long-term hike. And even if there weren’t… Who is going with me? And what am I going to eat, and… WHERE AM I GOING TO PARK???
My Muse has a list of people to go with, and my Editor has plenty of reasons why none of them are going.
The Muse and the Internal Editor In Conversation: The Camping Edition:
“What about—” “She’s a Neurologist, now.” “She could take a leave of absence.” “From Brain Surgery?” “Or what about– ” She’s married with kids, now. “It’s only for seven months. Eight tops.” ” She can’t kennel her children.” “How About…” “Did you forget what happened the last time?” “No.” “You don’t remember what happened last time?” “NO.” “Do you want me to remind you?” “No, no, no, NO, NO…”
(Yes, I do remember what happened last time. And no. It will never, ever be allowed to happen again.)
Nonetheless, I’ve been looking at new hiking gear for about a week. A little upgrade here and there won’t hurt anyone, and maybe next time, I can wave at the bunnies from my tent.
John Holton