April 30 2023, Kimberling Creek to Woods Hole Hostel:
After a long day hiking through mud, we finally made it to Woods Hole Hostel, one of the oldest hostels on the AT. I really liked the area as it was super hippiefied and cozy. The whole set up appeared similar to a homestead—hikers did yoga in the grass, the employees cooked meals with fresh vegetables from the garden and setting intentions before eating seemed to be the norm.
I met the owner, Nova, who was a sweet woman that enjoyed to talk a lot about gratitude. I told her Voodoo wanted me to pass down a “hello” to her.
“Oh, you must be Freyja!” she said.
“Yes,” I replied.
I was sitting beside Pusher while she continued, “That boy really really likes you, just so you know.”
“I know,” I said, now longing him even more.
“Just be gentle on him,” she reminded.
I suddenly felt inspired to go visit Voodoo and get some sort of closure instead of communicating my apparent feelings to him over the phone. I desired to see his face, view his facial expressions and of course, see where he wanted to take it from here. That is, if he wanted anything to do with me after he would hear of me fooling around with other men.
I visited the bunkhouse and while there, I talked to some guys, all of which I found very handsome, yet all I really wanted to hear was Voodoo’s voice. I found some paracord in the hiker box and reminisced of the way he used to tie me up.
Then, I opened the log book to find an entry he wrote, along with one of his infamous drawings, expressing a perception of pain, followed by acceptance. I felt so close to him just by seeing his handwriting and witnessing the depth of his thoughts. He seemed to be experiencing some mental anguish, yet came to the conclusion that the only way through was through and that he would keep his eyes centered on God. He had faith in the direction he was going. He had hope that all things would come together in clarity.
Right before going to bed, Pusher fingered me, making me squirt onto the bed. My moans carried on beyond the walls where others could hear, fooling them into believing I was enjoying myself. I turned over and fell asleep in an air of aloofness, wishing to be somewhere happy. I wished to understand that I didn’t have to do things I didn’t want to just to receive a perception of safety and protection. I wished to know of how to experience that sense of peace full time, without attaching to the ego’s promises of it being found in this fleeting world.
After a long day hiking through mud, we finally made it to Woods Hole Hostel, one of the oldest hostels on the AT. I really liked the area as it was super hippiefied and cozy. The whole set up appeared similar to a homestead—hikers did yoga in the grass, the employees cooked meals with fresh vegetables from the garden and setting intentions before eating seemed to be the norm.
I met the owner, Nova, who was a sweet woman that enjoyed to talk a lot about gratitude. I told her Voodoo wanted me to pass down a “hello” to her.
“Oh, you must be Freyja!” she said.
“Yes,” I replied.
I was sitting beside Pusher while she continued, “That boy really really likes you, just so you know.”
“I know,” I said, now longing him even more.
“Just be gentle on him,” she reminded.
I suddenly felt inspired to go visit Voodoo and get some sort of closure instead of communicating my apparent feelings to him over the phone. I desired to see his face, view his facial expressions and of course, see where he wanted to take it from here. That is, if he wanted anything to do with me after he would hear of me fooling around with other men.
I visited the bunkhouse and while there, I talked to some guys, all of which I found very handsome, yet all I really wanted to hear was Voodoo’s voice. I found some paracord in the hiker box and reminisced of the way he used to tie me up.
Then, I opened the log book to find an entry he wrote, along with one of his infamous drawings, expressing a perception of pain, followed by acceptance. I felt so close to him just by seeing his handwriting and witnessing the depth of his thoughts. He seemed to be experiencing some mental anguish, yet came to the conclusion that the only way through was through and that he would keep his eyes centered on God. He had faith in the direction he was going. He had hope that all things would come together in clarity.
Right before going to bed, Pusher fingered me, making me squirt onto the bed. My moans carried on beyond the walls where others could hear, fooling them into believing I was enjoying myself. I turned over and fell asleep in an air of aloofness, wishing to be somewhere happy. I wished to understand that I didn’t have to do things I didn’t want to just to receive a perception of safety and protection. I wished to know of how to experience that sense of peace full time, without attaching to the ego’s promises of it being found in this fleeting world.
