May 5 2023, US Route 220 (Daleville) to Harvey’s Knob Overlook:
Boo drove me all the way to Daleville and dropped me off at the Cracker Barrel. I felt it was the perfect place to work on my writing, but as per usual, the size of my backpack drew a lot of attention. The manager especially came over numerous times as he wanted to ask questions about my thru-hike. Afterwards, it seemed as if every other person was trying to come over and talk to me about the adventure I was on.
On one hand, I found it very sweet that people felt so inspired to ask me questions, however often times when I was writing, I felt as if I was being constantly interrupted. But in the moment that I got that upset feeling, I quickly recognized it wasn’t true. People were not capable of “interrupting” me. Whatever and whoever was coming up in my perception was asking for my undivided attention, asking to be heard and acknowledged. Instead of following thoughts that told me I had to get things done, I could see what was needed of me, which was to be present for the experience right now. And when I really dissected it, who was the writing really important for? There was no one out there who needed to write something, nor anyone who was supposed to read it.
It was a sparkling day on trail, full of blooming pink and yellow flowers. The sun was shining bright, heating my pale skin, but I didn’t mind much since the humidity wasn’t that strong yet. I was able to see a few open views which weren’t being heavily blocked off by the leaves. I even witnessed a few small critters such as chipmunks and squirrels running about beside the trail. Often times I wished I could be a little rodent on trail, only having to think about surviving in the wild through mindful awareness of my surroundings. I often grew tired from chasing thoughts about my next relationship, my next adventure or whatever other thought train my mind had in store for me.
Voodoo called me mid-day when he was in the car with Sidetracked. He was checking up on me to see where I was, slightly teasing me and pointing out that I had an insatiable desire for cock.
“I feel like I’m just warming you up for your new lovers,” he said.
He even called himself one of my lovers whereas just last week that title seemed to upset him. I grew more attracted to him when he allowed me to play freely with others. I grew more aroused when he knew he could never really have me.
I noticed I felt a lot more acceptant in owning the fact that I enjoyed experiencing multiple men. It was just the way I rolled when I was single and I didn’t feel called to hide it from anyone anymore, because in the end, I was only hiding it from myself. If someone resonated with where I was at, they would be in my life, if not, they would leave. It was okay for me either way and I didn’t hold anyone accountable to stay in my field. Regardless of what my actions appeared to look like on the surface, I knew it could change in an instant. So, I would be here until the patterns faded out, because sooner or later they would.
Boo drove me all the way to Daleville and dropped me off at the Cracker Barrel. I felt it was the perfect place to work on my writing, but as per usual, the size of my backpack drew a lot of attention. The manager especially came over numerous times as he wanted to ask questions about my thru-hike. Afterwards, it seemed as if every other person was trying to come over and talk to me about the adventure I was on.
On one hand, I found it very sweet that people felt so inspired to ask me questions, however often times when I was writing, I felt as if I was being constantly interrupted. But in the moment that I got that upset feeling, I quickly recognized it wasn’t true. People were not capable of “interrupting” me. Whatever and whoever was coming up in my perception was asking for my undivided attention, asking to be heard and acknowledged. Instead of following thoughts that told me I had to get things done, I could see what was needed of me, which was to be present for the experience right now. And when I really dissected it, who was the writing really important for? There was no one out there who needed to write something, nor anyone who was supposed to read it.
It was a sparkling day on trail, full of blooming pink and yellow flowers. The sun was shining bright, heating my pale skin, but I didn’t mind much since the humidity wasn’t that strong yet. I was able to see a few open views which weren’t being heavily blocked off by the leaves. I even witnessed a few small critters such as chipmunks and squirrels running about beside the trail. Often times I wished I could be a little rodent on trail, only having to think about surviving in the wild through mindful awareness of my surroundings. I often grew tired from chasing thoughts about my next relationship, my next adventure or whatever other thought train my mind had in store for me.
Voodoo called me mid-day when he was in the car with Sidetracked. He was checking up on me to see where I was, slightly teasing me and pointing out that I had an insatiable desire for cock.
“I feel like I’m just warming you up for your new lovers,” he said.
He even called himself one of my lovers whereas just last week that title seemed to upset him. I grew more attracted to him when he allowed me to play freely with others. I grew more aroused when he knew he could never really have me.
I noticed I felt a lot more acceptant in owning the fact that I enjoyed experiencing multiple men. It was just the way I rolled when I was single and I didn’t feel called to hide it from anyone anymore, because in the end, I was only hiding it from myself. If someone resonated with where I was at, they would be in my life, if not, they would leave. It was okay for me either way and I didn’t hold anyone accountable to stay in my field. Regardless of what my actions appeared to look like on the surface, I knew it could change in an instant. So, I would be here until the patterns faded out, because sooner or later they would.
