Life is Not a Box of Tampons

An Aggie (those of you not from Texas may insert an individual from any group you care to disparage in this spot) was home for spring break and went out with a bunch of his friends who attended other colleges. Only the Aggie was of age, so the gang sent him into a convenience store to buy beer. A few minutes later, he came out with a brown paper bag and tossed it into the back seat. One the boys, from a school with a far better reputation, scoffed, "What the Fuck! These are tampons! Why the hell did you buy these? You're such a douche bag."

The Aggie replied, "Dude, read the box! Who needs beer? With these you can hike, bike, swim, ski, dance, even go on a date with complete confidence! We're going to have the best night ever!"

As I was trying to find sleep a couple of nights ago, wondering where the summer had gone, cursing the fact that I hadn't done a fraction of the hiking, biking, swimming and such I'd planned to do during my months in Oregon, I was forced to face cruel reality.

More often than not, life out here is like life back there, but with better scenery.

Expectations are dangerous things, I remind myself for the bazillionth time. Best to handle them rarely, and then with care.

I hit the road tomorrow for The Great Trek East. I'm letting go of my itinerary after the first day, and I'm going to let my body and my mood set my pace.

Those of you who know me, stop laughing right now. I will relinquish control. I will. Right after another stay at the Hotel Monaco! If I were to spontaneously arrive there and find it full...shudder. I might end up at Little America or something.

Next stop, the high desert.