Parked at 10,000 Feet
The lights, and faint sounds of the quaint little town beneath me are the only signs that there’s life outside of my blazing hot camper. The snow all around dampens the sounds and often I mistake a plane for being a car. To say it’s been awhile since I’ve written would be an understatement, I am now residing in Summit County, Breckenridge to be exact and have spent the last two weeks visiting, sight seeing, mountain biking and just trying to get some sort of idea on where I want to live and what the hell I want to do with my life.
In an attempt to make friends and not alienate myself I’ve joined the gym and frequent the same coffee house daily. Everyday I plan how I can not better use my time but how I can better kill the abundance of time I have, this might sound depressing but it’s turned into quite the systematic game, and so long as I can trick my own brain into thinking it’s fulfilled than placebo wins. . I imagine it’s a lot like a prison mate; they know there not getting out anytime soon and that pleading to someone will do no good so they make the best of what they have and often times find it to be fruitful.
I have always been a morning person, once in an interview I was asked if I were a morning person or night person and I said I’m a morning person so I would rather work nights as so I can have my job be separate from my time to think. The employer was not impressed. Mornings in the camper are spectacular. The cold damp air is quickly replaced by the dry heat of the wood stove, the confounding choice of wether to drink black coffee, coffee with cream, white coffee with cinnamon and cream or yerba mate is of the hardest and most important decisions I will face until tomorrow morning.
By this time my phone and other devices have all but been drained and to add to my caffeine high I most likely will head into town to drink more coffee, be tempted by the bake goods but never order them and pretend to be doing important things so that the employees wont say anything while I nurse my beverage for two hours waiting for my electronics to charge. Hunger has over ridden the appetite suppressant nature of caffeine at this point but before I feed I must hit the gym as everybody knows we were told a lie when they said that breakfast is the most important meal of the day and thus I take it to mean fasting is the most important meal of the day. I see lifting weights or running like a hamster on a treadmill as a sort of pleasure delay for taking a sauna, the real crown jewel of the meat market. A place where it is totally excepted to not speak and to sit with your eyes closed and not fidget. All too often I have this gem of a room to myself and in those times I begin to tap my fingers on the various densities and thicknesses of cedar that line the hot cellar and find just the right pitch characteristics per finger to make a rhythm. When someone comes in after having it to myself the introspective side shuts down and the opportunity for social interaction kicks in the left side of the brain to make silly remarks like “Could be a little hotter in here hu?” Or “Surprised there’s no one else in here with how cold it is out there” responses can go one of three ways: 1 they have little interest in conversing and use non punctual english like “uh-hu” or “yep” in which case I go about my sweating procedure and leave them be. 2 this usually only happens with someone over the age of say 60, they fully acknowledge your comment or question and continue on with small talk that might lead to something as deep as a “where you from.” These are my favorite. 3 with every story thats shared the person has something to say that relates to there life and there experiences, you could tell them you just won the olympics for ice skating and without a second thought they would respond with some stupid story about how he was ice skating once and. . .