Awaken at sunrise to the sudden stun-drum alarm of woodpeckers warming up for battle — self-extract from a zero-degree bag and exit a two-person tent that seldom shelters more than one — and pitch a few big sticks stones and swearwords up at those bloody woodpeckers for a while.
Unzip and begin taking a piss in the firepit — empty about half your bladder before managing to quit pissing on your pajamas and repositioning upwind — finish pissing — and realize the keys you've been trying to find since awakening are for some reason sitting on the dashboard inside your locked car.
Break into your car using the hardened sheath of the ESEE-6 you sleep with as a prybar and a length of barbed wire borrowed from a nearby cattle fence as a probe — locate the first aid kit and patch up all the puncture wounds — fetch water from the brook that keeps the beer cold — and set that water aboil till all the shit in it that could potentially kill you is well good and a hundred percent dead.
Grind colombian coffee beans in a german hand mill — brew up that bastard caffeine powder in the french press you bought from a prominent swedish retailer — and drink whatever the result is bulletproof as an idiot american across the ridge pulls the trigger much too often and way too early in the morning. You're still bleeding pretty bad, man. I know. And I don't care.
Unfold the solar panel activate the not so hotspot and hop into the email realm to see if there be any sort of trouble awaiting you today — recall the laptop stops responding every night cause of how cold it likes to get — restart the laptop — and repeat with fingers crossed as needed till it's confirmed no business requires attention which can't be put off for the future like a successfully incompetent boss.
Fry two eggs with salted butter garlic and onion — add one tortilla and a double shot of hot sauce till you've got a breakfast burrito — stuff that thing in your face and then review the state of your available hiking gear — rub sunscreen on your nose put those poptarts in your pack and walk away from camp — climb 3,000 feet up a mountain through deadfall boulders scrub oak and knee-deep snow — and fail to see the forest for the trees all day long while fretting on whether or not your mind will permit any writing in the evening.
Arrive back at camp after about six hours elapsed — take a hobo bath in the brook that keeps the beer cold — win a staring contest with a lone deer that looks like it's just seen the unholy ghost itself — and lose a staring contest with the laptop and a few scrambled lines of doggerel as the sun retires.
Take a vow to cease writing forever as darkness arises — tear your thesaurus apart and start a fire with the nonsensical shreddings that result — fetch a beer from the brook that keeps the beer cold — and enter into one final staring contest with a sky of frightening stars as the owls and coyotes settle into their scheme for keeping you from sleep by hooting and howling oh so god almighty loud the everloving night entire. You're bleeding out, man, and I don't think I can stop it. It's fine. I don't give a fuck.
Hahaha interesting morning routine.
This earneda follow.
I'm glad you enjoyed the show! Some days just don't go the way you plan… thank god I have an older model car that allows for my method of brute force entry :)
The pitfalls of automotive innovation are the emasculation of force through limiters and safety features. Turn them off and the damned vehicle don't function.
Precisely why I like old cars :)
I'll be honest, my perfect day doesn't involve camping of any sort.
but the events you relate are more about existing, and continuing to exist every day is a perfect thing to strive for.
thanks for sharing
I'm a bit of a cynic… and there's a bit of sarcasm involved in my suggestions here. Sometimes the best I can do is just figure out how to react to things that try to ruin my day. Maybe setting the thesaurus on fire wasn't such a great reaction :)