I’ve been told to label everything I own. This directive was followed up by “seriously!” Feeling like I’m off to camp I need to find a sturdy sharpie. I have only been “at camp” once in my life. I vaguely remember it. My days of “Can you sign my setlist? Can you sign my cd?” are over but I’m sure I can find a permanent pen somewhere. I have one in every color, including pink. I got the list of what to bring, where to be, what to eat, where to sleep, when to start, who to meet…I have more lists than I know what to do with. I fear something will be forgotten despite all the lists.
Can you tell I’m getting nervous? This is so far out of my comfort zone that I don’t have even the smallest mental compass to guide or comfort me. I’m not good at meeting new people. I’m even worse at group things. Small talk is no small feat. It’s challenging to be charming. I stumble stagger over not saying anything stupid. To be honest, I crave 60 miles with an ipod. 60 miles with my memories of Noreen. 60 miles of missing Monhegan. Saying this makes me feel bitchy, unsocial, ungrateful for the opportunity to share in such a great event. That’s not it. I just have a lot of frustration over this cancer thing. So much emotion that has built up. I need a release. I don’t understand it, but I need to control it, to own it. Somehow.
So. Now I will label everything I own. I will put my name on everything that belongs to me. I will put myself out there in more ways than one. Think camp, I tell myself. Think camp.