Same Loop, Different Day
The Van Is Right There
Today feels exactly like yesterday, which felt exactly like the day before. I have vertigo, which sounds like a reasonable excuse to sit down and do nothing useful, except instead I have been doing what can only be described as crazy person things, working through a list of tasks that keeps regenerating itself like some kind of cursed spreadsheet. The contractor kicks us out of the apartment tomorrow. I am, as they say, at my absolute end.
The plan had been elegant in its simplicity: load the van, go camping, let the mountains handle whatever the contractor was about to stir up. Jackson Hole has a way of absorbing chaos if you let it. That was the idea, anyway.
Instead I sabotaged it. I am not entirely sure how. One minute the plan existed, the next it had dissolved into a afternoon of confusion and diminishing returns. The mountain bike ride I had been looking forward to, gone. The sense of forward momentum, also gone. What remained was a to-do list and a low-grade hum of frustration that no amount of task completion seemed to touch.
I keep pushing, and the day keeps dissolving. That loop is getting old.
What I do know is this: the path through town down to the river still exists. The light hit those hills the way it only does after a storm rolls through, that specific green that makes everything look briefly and improbably perfect. I did not earn that view. I just happened to be standing there when it showed up.
June 10th, Wet and Otherwise
June 10th has shown up rainy, blizzard-y, and occasionally spectacular across two decades of posts. From ark-planning in Missoula to beargrass at Lindbergh Lake to stumbling onto mining ruins at Pipestone, the date has a way of delivering something worth writing down. The thread connecting all of it is simple: get outside, find something worth seeing, and if possible, someone to share it with.
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