I didn’t sleep well last night. I had trouble falling asleep. As soon as I got in bed, all I wanted to do was cry. My period is on approach and so is that 8 month mark, and the combination makes it hard for me to function. Hard for me to put on the work mask and get things done.
I did a half mile walk in the morning and the evening. The bites are going down, but still getting irritated when I walk, so it’s a kind of compromise. I still want to be getting outside and walking regularly.
I knew this week was going to be hard. The 8 month mark. The last community service day coming up. I just want to finish it and be done. The period coming. And having to work extra to make up for the time I’m teaching class. Maybe I should just use vacation time this week. But I want to have a good amount come summer.
There’s a part of me that can’t even start to heal until I go backpacking. I figured out the route I need to drive to get to the trailhead up to our lakes. We called it dog snout because of how the road looked on the map. I think I coined the term, but Ambrose loved it. I can’t wait to hike up there. We hadn’t gone up that way in years, preferring to hike out of Kennally Creek when we went up that way. The way goes right past Gold Fork Hot Springs, so I’ll probably stop there, too. But not until July, most likely. I’ve encountered a blizzard up there in June, and I’d rather not do that again.
And I want to get myself up to Big Creek. I want to see what the fire did up there, and I want to see everyone. I want to hold them and remember Ambrose with them in a place that he helped build and that he loved so dearly. I don’t know if I’ll backpack out of Big Creek this year, but maybe I’ll hike up to Pueblo Summit on a day hike. Or an overnight at Jeep Camp.
The weather has been beautiful today. Gray and cloudy to start, with storm cells bringing rain and wind and even hail, but in the evening the sky got more clear. The clouds made a painting in the sky.
I submitted my story for Pulphouse yesterday. That makes two stories written and submitted this year. More than I’ve done in a while when it comes to fiction writing. I’m surprised at myself, that I’ve managed to create when I’m feeling like this. I wish I could share those stories with Ambrose. He was my first reader, for everything. He read all my blogs. Listened to all my songs. If he’s still listening, then I wonder if he’s reading my stories as I write them or if I should be reading them aloud for him…
