13,567 is the number of NEW WORDS I wrote while I was up on a tall tall mountain with Lydia, retreating. Those brave wild honking beautiful LOONS among you who are doing NaNoWriMo may now yawn, completely unimpressed, and say, “That’s almost as many words as I effortlessly pooped out this morning before breakfast.”
BUT FOR ME it was a big ol’ hairy deal. Lydia got about 15K, so I hate her now, forever, ALAS, but this is us together soaking up glorious porch sunshine before I put her shoes outside by the back door and said, “I DIVORCE THEE!” three times for beating my word count.
This is what we were both wearing when we found each other at the airport: dark jeans, gray T shirts, black hoodies with the exact same kind of weird white-gray stripes running through them, black backless clogs. IT WAS INSANE. We looked like we had forgotten we were not in middle school, and had been on the phone for HOURS trying to figure out how to dress like Twinsies.
Lydia says we both ended up in this “look” because it is the least visible or noticeable outfit IN THE UNIVERSE. And yeah, that’s how I dress. My friend Julie says my favorite colors is “drab.”
Granted, if I am at a fest or other litty event, I have fake “dress up and pretend to be an novelist” outfits and MANY of these clothes have actual colors in them, so I can disguise myself as a person who is visible.
But in my real life, I dress in frumpy-mom-ninja wear. MOVE ALONG! my clothes say, NOTHING REMOTELY OF INTEREST TO SEE HERE! I HAVE NO LIFE OR IDENTITY. IF YOU TALK TO ME, I AM ABSOLUTELY GOING TO SHOW YOU PICTURES OF MY CHILDREN AND TELL YOU ABOUT THEIR MANY BRAVE ACCOMPLISHMENTS IN THE WORLD OF TODDLER RUGBY. FOR HOURS.
Lydia is the same way—-if our social anxieties were to get together, they would make beautiful whimpering babies who never left the fetal position and who were INCAPABLE of climbing out from under the sink.
SO here we both are striving to be UNLOOKED AT BY ANY HUMAN, but nothing makes you suddenly visible like…dressing like adult twinsies. HOISTED on our own bleak drab charcoal petards!
This is the GPS on my car. It is telling us to turn right on Hell Cat Creek road. NOW. Directly to the right of us is an enormous plummet of death straight down a mountain that we fervently do not wish to turn-slash-plummet down.
But the car says TURN. You see, we are at 0.0 miles. And the road has a HATEFUL misogynist name. The only possible explanation is that MY BELOVED CAR was making an overly personal and hurtful statement about the characters and personalities of the twinsies in the car. And also possibly wishing us dead.
Frankly, we were hurt.
This is what it looks like up there. I am not a view-trees-sky-nature person, really. Nature is where they keep the roaches. *shudder* And I freakin’ HATE plants. If it wasn’t for all the OXYGEN needs we seem to have a species, and how a lot of plants seem to produce foods and life-saving medications., I would just as soon not have them about clotting up earth.
That said, I LOVE hiking because I am an endorphin junky, and because nature is where they also keep THE ANIMALS. I am an animal person. I once went nine miles straight up a mountain to turn over a rock and see a fast flash of rare newt as he fled. Then I went back down, completely satisfied. I LOVE anything that has a heartbeat. (Except roaches, assuming roaches have twitchy black pulsing heart-like evil nodes somewhere in there vile raspy dry-clicky barbenous roach chests.)
Not a view person or a nature person, but…even I felt a twitch of niggling beauty-response looking at this. Just a faint ping of, “Oh, right. God exists.”