Look at What the Light Did Now.

Sometimes I'm in love with life as we know it.

This week, for instance, is lacking in prose, and I'm okay with that. I'm serious about this family, kids. They're some kind of exciting. The night before last at about 11pm my 3 siblings and 2 of our cousins decided to spend some quality time on the beach. Just family, the ocean, the stars, and a few gin and tonics.

After about 30 minutes of quality time, we, or more accurately, I, needed a cigarette. Unfortunately, the closest cigarettes available were at a gas station about 2 miles down the road. My family, in this intoxicated state, decided that a two mile walk was no big deal, and so we commenced on our journey.

At this point I guess I should mention where I am right now. I'm on vacation with my family of 6 and my mom's brother's family of 8, along with a family of 4 friends, not to mention my dad's brother's family, also of 4. We vacation on Anna Maria Island, which, while ridiculously beautiful and relaxing, is also a bit of a retirement town. Not that I'm complaining- I love it here.

The unfortunate part of vacationing in such a quiet town is that at the ungodly hour of 12 midnight, most island businesses, including afore mentioned gas station, are closed. Still, after walking a full two miles, we were pretty determined to at least achieve SOMEthing. So, we continued walking.

We continued walking for 6 miles.

When we finally arrived at a 24 hour Circle K, we were pretty much all ready for a cigarette, even though I'm the only one of us who actually smokes. We sat down and considered our journey thus far, and decided that the walk back was going to be zero fun. An eight mile walk is something of a buzz-kill, but it's an adventure at least. A 16 mile walk is just a bitch.

So, instead of taking the long trek back, we flagged down the one and only taxi driver who works that late, by the one and only bar that's open that late. Luckily, his taxi was an SUV, so all 6 of us could fit somewhatg easily.

Our taxi driver was kind of a big deal. First of all, he was at least 55 years old, smoking a Marboro 100, and just as personable as you can be. Best of all, his name was Dewy. Seriously? I couldn't make this shit up.

So, after a quick trip with Dewy back to our side of the island, we laid out on the beach and talked over the idea of spending the night under the stars. We discussed this thought over straight gin, which is something pretty handy when it comes to convincing a group of teenagers to just pass out right then and there.

After about 15 minutes on the beach, one of my cousins thought he spotted a dog ab out 30 yards down from us, coming out of the ocean. When we went to check it out--whoa, hello, as if this night needed any more excitement--we see that it's not a dog at all, but a giant sea turtle coming to lay her eggs on the beach.

Pretty much one of the coolest things I've ever seen in real life.

More on this later, I'm pretty tired of typing at this point....

The yellow jackets were vindictive that summer...

... that's how I'm going to begin my memoirs.

The Peace Corps is an independent federal agency of the United States designed to promote mutual understanding between Americans and the outside world

I constantly think about the fact that I should be saving the world, and I'm not.

I usually just brush it off because I don't know what to do or where to start, but you have no idea how guilty I feel about everything that is so wrong right now. Like, whenever adults come and talk to our camp staff and say something like, "Y'all are doing great work here, making a difference," I want to scream.

Yep, quite a difference here, teaching peace and love to upper-middle class kids who have never know anything other than peace and love anyway. I've heard it said that problems are not relative. So I shouldn't judge the reality of my own problems based on the severity of others' problems. To some extent I guess that's true, but to a greater extent, it's kind of bullshit.

My biggest concern at age 19 is some kind of abstract worry about what to do with the next 60 of my life. If I lived in Swaziland, I might be wondering what to do with the next 15 years of my life, but more likely, I would have some more concrete things on my mind.

I'm so frustrated and I don't know how to stop thinking about everything that I can't possibly fix. I just feel so guilty about things. And I want a big house, and lots of kids, and art work in my living room, but how can I ever possibly be ok with having all of those things when people are dying from lack of clean drinking water?

And the idea of just sitting and praying for those people? What utter bullshit. As if some desperate mother in some tiny 3rd world country is going to think, "Oh, gee, some suburban American is praying for me from her padded kneeler in church. I feel so much better about my children's slim chance for survival," And that's going to make her life better?

I need to join the Peace Corps.

Actually, after reading the Wikipedia article on the Peace Corps, I've changed my mind. I'm not joining an organization started as an "army of young Americans to act as missionaries of democracy." Also, the head of the P.C. is quoted as saying, "The Peace Corps are trying to get more diverse volunteers of different ages. This is important so that the Peace Corps can look "more like America."

Er....

Jai Guru Deva Om. (Thanks to the Divine Teacher)

I've been at Camp McDowell for almost a month straight. Is that a good thing or a bad thing or a nothing thing? I think it's a good thing.

I really miss my friends from Tuscaloosa a whole lot. I miss my life in Tuscaloosa. At the same time, this summer is exactly what I need.

I absolutely cannot go back to school this fall and for get who I am all over again--cause that's what keeps happening to me, and it's more trouble than it's worth to tell you the truth. I figure out who I am, and I get really ok with that, and then I slowly start to forget little things about who I am--like first I might forget whether or not I like for my toenails to be painted, or exactly which place on my neck I like to be kissed--and then I forget more and more little things until one day when I check in my "self archives" (which should be completely full, because, hello, if I don't keep up with me then who will?!) and I find that they're in complete disarray, and I have to start figuring myself out all over again, and I end up having to rewrite a lot of things that I know I already had figured out before. It's not that I mind rewriting,--that's very important and we should all rewrite as often as needed-- but when I can't remember what was ever there in the first place, there's a problem. Is this entirely too complicated to make sense? It makes sense in my head.

Anyway, by the end of this summer I should have things strait again, although my freshman year of college was something like a hurricane that occurred inside me. Which is ok, because I've had worse internal disasters before, particularly earthquakes. I've also discovered though, that when I'm in sorting mode, like I am right now, I have trouble summoning up the kind of emphatic and rapid excitement that you kids might be expecting.

Also, I kind of think that I just don't have it in me any more. I can't feel my kindred Mercury in my blood. I'm not intense and emotional anymore. I feel pretty calm actually. Centered even. Maybe my fever is gone?

I don't want it to be.

I leave for the beach tomorrow, and I'm pretty darn excited. Hopefully I'll stay strong in my efforts to not get a tan, mostly because I love the irony of being ultra concerned about skin cancer while smoking cigarettes. Which, P. S. I did not do for 10 days and was absolutely fine, thereby proving my point that I am not, in fact, addicted.

We'll see how I do with the SPF protection.

There's No Combination, No Words I Could Put on the Back of a Postcard.

I'm hoping this will be a long post, because it'll most certainly be the last one for at least eleven days, and I have lots to write about. Or, about which to write. You just witnessed an internal battle of Desire to be Grammatically Correct vs. Fear of being an Anal Retentive. I'll let you decide who won. Also, in case you were wondering just what "anal retentive" actually means, (because I was wondering just that!) it is defined as

"Indicating personality traits, such as meticulousness,
avarice, and obstinacy, originating in habits, attitudes, or values associated with infantile pleasure in retention of feces."

Um... ew. My reading that definition =score one for Fear of being an Anal Retentive. At the same time, I'm wondering if it shouldn't be "anally retentive"? If one can be "anal," then anal is, in this case, an adverb describing how one is retentive-- isn't it? Oh me, if only you kids knew how I stress over grammar, and I just can't seem to quit. I guess if I have to be stressed about something, and I do, grammar is at least a cause about which I can be passionate. AND, if I can't stop stressing about it, then there's no point in my stressing about stressing.

Oh me, this is not where I was intending to go with this post at all.

I've officially survived my first session as a camp counselor with her own cabin and lots and lots of responsibility! I, for one, am proud of me. I woke my campers up on time every day! I made them all take showers almost every night! I even had fun doing it all. I really like kids. Well, most of them... I will admit that two of those little bitches got on my nerves, and I could've had more patience with them. But two out of eight... actually, that's one fourth of my cabin, so maybe I'll work of that being nice to kids I don't like thing.

But nine year olds should NOT ask me what time it is 7 hundred thousand times a day. Analog clocks are hard.

Also, I forgot to do in cabin bible study with them one out of two days that I was supposed to. I decided that was okay though, because I'm only half Episcopal any way.

In other news, I bought I ton of national geographic magazines from the 70s and 80s. I'm using them to collage this ond suitcase that I bought at the thrift store. I also got some used picture frames for 25 cents apiece to collage. I consider myself pretty darn crafty. The cool part is that I was just intending to cut up all of the magazines, but I ended up reading most of the articles, which were mostly about the USSR and new technology called fiber optics. Also there are advertisements for microwaves.

I'm spending a lot of time with myself at camp, and, I've decided that, although I really like myself, there are some things that I maybe should work on. Coincidentally, one of those things that I decided to work on is remembering that I need to be happy with myself. As you can see, with this being the first thing I decided to work on, I get a little unconcerned about the rest of the necessary changes because, hey, remember? I like myself already! Number 2 on the list is remembering that I'm not necessarily the only one who matters. And that people who I do not like are still people, and I should be nice to them, without being fake nice.

Also, I need to make up my mind, or maybe just stop talking. Because things just pop out that I don't mean at all, and that's not a big deal when I'm telling you that I used to live in Haiti, but it is a big deal when I'm telling you that I just need some time and maybe some space when that's not really what I need to be saying at all. I really wish that someone would just go ahead and hate me to teach me the lesson I deserve. Or that it would just dawn on me.

Do things dawn on you, kids? Cause the important things never come to me so gently as dawn seems to some. I think things have to erode into me.

I fearlessly removed a grandaddy longlegs from the shower in my cabin, without even killing him. Well, I was outwardly fearless. Or, fearless when compared to the screaming 8-year olds around me. Anyway, it's really important to me that my campers hopefully left camp thinking that it's really not fair to hurt something or someone just because you think that you have more of a right to this planet than he does. Cause maybe do, but also, maybe you don't.

Also, it's nice to know that there's a spider out there who owes me one. Interestingly enough, grandaddy longlegs are NOT in fact, the most poisonous spiders in the world with a mouth that's too small to bite humans. I saw that on MythBusters, and it was, most assuredly, busted. Their venom is, however, virtually harmless to humans.

I still think I'm pretty brave for catching one in a cup. Also, I'm always going to be scared of grasshoppers and those beetles with the giant fang looking things. I looked for a picture of them on Google but just looking at different kinds of them kind of scared me, so I stopped.

You know which ones I mean though.

This blog is ridiculously long. Go back and read the whole thing some time though. I'm telling you, it's a good one.

Well if I was in your position, I'd put down all my ammunition; I'd wonder why it had taken me so long.

I can't always be waiting on you.