I woke up to a dark room and the sound of my alarm buzzing and ringing. Blurry eyed, I searched the dresser, hoping to push the snooze button for nine more minutes of sleep, but by the time I found it I decided I might as well stay up. I shuffled from our messy room, knee aching, mouth dry, to the kitchen to heat water for coffee. In the kitchen, I grabbed a cup, filled it with water, and sipped it as I blankly stared at the ever growing pile of dishes in the sink. After coffee, I ventured out to the garden to check on the drip system my mom and I installed a few weeks ago before hoping on a plane for Hawaii. Everything is working well, and the tomato plants have engulfed everything. By the sight of our bolted lettuce plants its apparent that I haven't had much interaction with the garden for the last few weeks aside from ever-so-often picking its fruits. Our house is not much different. A laundry basket full of clothes, yoga mats spread out on the floor, shoes and climbing gear strewn about.
The last few weeks seem a blur. Went up to Western States to pace my friend Peter, then to Hawaii with my family, and now, the first couple of weeks back I have been trying my best to venture out into the mountains at every possible moment. The result: my knee has been sore for a few days, my big toe is wrapped in climbing tape, I have splotches of poison oak popping up on my limbs, and our house has been engulfed by our tired decisions to let our "future-selves" put things away.
I have begun to wonder if this is becoming a problem. So many of our day-to-day chores have been neglected, and I wonder if future Erik and Jess will ever come around to pick up the piles of gear. Even now, as I am writing this, I am becoming restless, knowing that there is something that I could be doing instead, and I feel like I have to answer the urge to go for a run. Perhaps I am in denial about my addiction, but until the stage of acceptance I am going to go out and, as my college room mates would say, "buy the world." And now off to some more fun hogging.
|Peter Cross, Rucky Chucky River Crossing, Western States.|