About Time (part 2.058)

To my dearest people, I am in a rocking chair on the porch at the Caratunk House Bed and Breakfast, compulsively tipping back and forth, and not paying enough attention to this chess game. I am not a sore loser. (Ahaha that is not true. I definitely am. I hate losing, and I definitely resent

About time.

I wasn’t going to write you again so soon… But here I am with my Portland-brewed coffee porter in my hand, and my stomach full of a Patriot Meal ™, sitting clean and warm and dry on the carpet of this fine, wonderful hostel like a small torpid mushroom. I don’t actually remember what torpid

Sailing awayyyy

This is what you get.

Update no. 1600

I am eating eggs with chicken and bacon in a tortilla as I write this to y’all, and sitting crosslegged with my down sleeping bag over my lap, which my knee does not like because it has become angry at the mountains in New Hampshire. It is odd; because the others are figuring out what

Gone rogue

Happens to the worst of us. Nefarious trail plans, amirite