The Return of Small Pox

Hibernation has begun. I am sitting in bed, wearing Skipper’s over sized robe/sweater, waiting for it to rain. I haven’t left my apartment since I came home from work four hours ago, and don’t plan on leaving until it is time to go to work tomorrow morning.

I have spent the last four hours checking my e-mail (4 e-mails from my mother, father, mother and spam), watched three tv shows while doodling and filling out my recipe list for my practical exam, made and ate one of the best hamburgers I have ever had (I like to over salt my beef paddy), and am just about to write my man a long over due e-mail. It’s not much, but it is hibernation.

The only problem with hibernation is, I obviously don’t have a lot of outside blog material. This forces me to get creative and right now, I’m tired, and not all too creative. SO, although I have already gotten complaints from longtime blog readers about re-posts, they are going to just have to deal and continue you to love me because I know how they were able to “collect” so many rubber stamps.

Here is one of my all time favorites, taken from the original blog. Nothing like a blog before bedtime, I always say.


Small Pox

When I was twenty I took what little money I had, and walked in to the desert looking for the mind that I had lost.

College hadn’t worked out. I had wanted to be a graphic designer more then anything, but was finding out that it was for the wrong reasons. I wasn’t clear where my academic path was leading me, but I knew it was out of San Francisco.

So I packed a couple things, put on my sunglasses and started walking. My destination? The Grand Canyon.

The Grand Canyon is crazy. The fact that over billions of years the Colorado River just keeps cutting into the Earth like that is extraordinary. It’s desert all around and then the world just cracks open, ready to swallow you up.

It was the desert that had called to me first though. I had no idea what I was suppose to be doing with my life. Everything I had been planning for, the life I thought I was moving towards, had been wrong. As confused and stressed as I was I knew I had to get my shit together, and so I knew I had to get out and start walking.

I started towards San Jose, and that’s when I figured on going through the hills of Monterey down to Fresno, through Bakersfield, past the airplane graveyard to Barstow and then just took it easy, walking straight to The Grand Canyon. I had never been there before, and when I looked into the vastness of it I knew I was where I needed to be at that moment. It felt good. It felt good to be out of San Francisco and to just be by myself. To be by myself!

I took the little money I had and bought a second hand tent and a thick wool blanket from some Native Americans. (I could insert a Small Pox comment here, but I will spare you) I then made my way down into the canyon. Looking back it was pretty dangerous, but at that point in time I didn’t really give a fuck about anything. I made it down in one piece though and set up camp at the river’s edge. I pitched the tent and laid out my blanket, and then I got a fire going and cooked some hot dogs. The sky was clear, and it was hard to believe that so many starts could even fit into one sky.

I sat out long into the night, just trying to get my head straight and figure out what my next step would be. At first it didn’t come. I knew there were options but they wouldn’t be easy. I like easy, I like comfortable, and what was to come wouldn’t be any of that. So I sat there by the river and waited. At around four in the morning it hit me. The desert was far, but Switzerland was farther. That would be my next step. Who cared what I would do when I got there, I was desperate and this was a lot better then staying at home and going to the local community college until I finally figured my shit out. I needed distance, and I needed change, and more then anything I needed to figure out who I was.

I slept a few hours in the tent and then woke up and had another hot-dog. I packed my stuff up and climbed out of the canyon. As I stood on the edge of the western rim I thanked the canyon for what it had made clear to me. This had only been the preface to the adventure. This had just been the introduction. So, I grabbed my belongings, put my sunglasses back on, and started the walk back home. There were letters to write, and plane tickets to buy.