Friday, November 20, 2009

reflections--but not mirror ones, though

when i lived in the mountains, me & some friends took the old work truck, seatbelt-less, windshield-less and brake-less and drove through the forest as fast as we could, ramming into trees and plummeting down steep drops, protected only by goggles, hockey pads, and climbing helmets [but there weren't enough climbing helmets, so darcy had to wear a welding helmet]. we took an air mattress, tied some ropes around it, and took it down the rapids, as expert rafters looked on in disgust and concern but mostly disgust from their fancy canoes. i explored caves, went cliff jumping, climbed and military repelled a flimsy 50 foot wall covered in chicken wire in the middle of the night, sat on the edge of a waterfall, rode a bike at full speed down a mountain and crashed face first into a tree stump.
i got a black eye.
and a black most of me.

i was just thinking about all that, and realized something terrible about myself:
i have since turned into a boring old fart with a bad hair-cut.
how did that happen?

1 comment:

Jen Glen said...

What are you talking about, bad haircut? You may be boring, but I like your hair!