Missing you already

I’m sitting (or rather, lying) here in my big ass tent, all alone. Jenny left for Oregon today and my brothers don’t arrive until tomorrow. Bummer.

It’s creepy how my voice actually echoes around this giant tent. You wouldn’t think that nylon provides for much of a sound barrier, but apparently it does. Every rustle of paper or toot of the butt trumpet bounces around this space like a handful of rubber balls. Too much emptiness.

It wasn’t pleasant, having to say goodbye to Jenny today. She’s such an awesome soul and as always I immensely enjoyed my time with her. The most cruel aspect of the internet is that it brings us friends we might otherwise never meet, and then manages to keep them at arm’s length due to geography and lifestyle. Oh to afford constant travel…I would visit Jenny at least once a month. Just to giggle and share coffee and listen to good tunes. Camp a little. Tell stories. Exchange science topics. Hm.

This week we popped by Racine’s and I bought a three-pack of Moleskine journals. They’re these tiny slim things good for short jaunts down the harrowed paths of my brain, and I desperately needed them after I realized that I’d left my actual Moleskine notebook on my desk at home. There’s nothing scarier to a writer than being without their notebook. Sometimes I like to bring all the ones I’ve already filled up as well, to read and reread and find inspiration in the right setting. What seems odd and clumsy when written in the comfort of my bedroom can blossom into something magnificent when read under a canopy of redwoods and eucalyptus.

I’m trying not to actually write blog entries in my Moleskines. They’re expensive enough without putting disposable words in them.

As happens every year, I feel compelled to start yet another new story. I have boxes filled with half-finished notebooks of stories I’ve written while here in Fort Bragg. Some are what I’d consider good…others are meh. It’s not so much the story itself as much as it is the process of storytelling. Getting stuff out and on paper. Especially while I’m here. This place has given rise to a multitude of tales in my life, I often wonder if I will suddenly reach the limit of all it has to give. If one year I’ll show up and feel nothing. Such a sad thought.

This year I find myself drawn back to a short story I wrote last year at this time. I thought it was just a quickie…simply words I vomited uselessly onto the page. But apparently my heart and head are ganging up on me in full disagreement. So continue I must. I’m afraid if I don’t, nothing else will come to me and I’ll lose precious moments. There are a million ways in which the trees can inspire me, but only a handful of ways in which I can interpret their words and get it down right.

OK, I’m blathering at this point. And you’re all falling fast asleep at your computers. More tomorrow then. My fingers are itching to write and my Moleskines look lonely.