Smell Me Through Your Screen

It’s our 8 week camp~a~versary. We are crusty in all the right places.

I don’t doubt you can smell me through the screen. My last “bath” was in a green algae laden river that induced a panic attack. It broke so many of my personal rules. Yet, there I stood in my unflattering one piece, water up to my knees (that’s as deep as I could go before my heart would stop). I stood as only an adult toddler could, rinsing my body and hair with a cup.

It’s been a month since my last post. We’ve been camping for 56 nights and have paid for 1 night of camping and 5 hotel stays. Our favorite app is I Overlander for free camping. Pretty sure there’s not an app for free hotel stays……..yet.

Saving money on rent during a pandemic has never been so much fun. Ask us how we feel about it once winter shows up.

We’ve done and seen some great things since the last post. The least great being Las Vegas, I have laid my curiosity to rest for all eternity. I prefer being smelled through the screen.

Why Be A Donkey When You Could Be A Burro

That’s Archie, doing what Archie does.

He has his mother’s feral heart.

There’s not a cage big enough to hold it captive.

With so much devastation spreading across the globe, it’s difficult to make sense of things.

It feels too big. Too much.

Did you know a “donkey” is domesticated and a “burro” is feral?

Jase and I happen to be camping among burros.

Instead of waking to the sound of roosters we awake to the braying of the burro. (And inconsiderate campers……..Who the fuck listens to music at 5 am in the wilderness?)

If you need some laughter in your day, enjoy my first encounter with a burro.

Remember to stay feral my friends. Domestication is for asses.

Miss Stinky Pee-Pee Pants

So I’ve peed my pants twice on this journey.

The funny lookin funnel thing in the above photo is what I call my “she-wee”. It’s god given name is “the freshette”. I’ve used it for the past 5 years to stand and pee in the woods. It wasn’t until this trip that it malfunctioned. The funnel couldn’t handle the flow and spilled over into my pants and down my legs. Good times. Fuck off she-wee……. you are no longer on my favorites list.

We drove from Montrose to Dolores, hitting the town of telluride on the way.

We popped up a quick camp for the night and had some red curry for din din. The insta pot is becoming a great companion.

We are traveling with both of our cars bursting at the seams with gear for every occasion. Living out of your car is nothing like packing up for a weekend of camping. This is a whole new ball game and we are making up the rules as we go.

I Am Not A Diva

I don’t know where to begin.

Feels like I’m out of touch with blogging.

We spent a week in Leadville Colorado, by the Mt. Massive trail. I chuckle every time I say “Mount Massive”. It’s the second highest peak in the state, for anyone who’s in to facts.

Since my two oldest boys love the outdoors and live relatively close, they came out for the SNOWY weekend. Yes, snow, cold and yuck.

We enjoyed cocoa, shortbread and chicken noodle soup in the comfort of our cozy tent home.

My eyeballs are filled with tears as I type and share these images. Words can not articulate the gratitude I feel for these memories.

My left hip has decided to throw a tantrum, causing pain up and down my entire leg. We suspect it’s the change in bed, cold and the spinal chord cyst. Life is never without challenges.

I have also discovered I am not a diva. I tried using the diva cup before my period started and I’m glad I did. It is certainly not made for me.

I shoved, twisted and contorted that thing into my vag every which way possible. As the day progressed it fell out. I purchased the correct model for those who have had children. Apparently they need to design a cup for the “oddly shaped” vag. I have vivid memories of being in labor and nurses having to contort themselves and the hospital bed just to reach my cervix.

I can not imagine a diva cup filled with menstrual blood making an exit without any say in the matter.

We tore down camp yesterday, spent 5 hours driving, and landed in the town of Montrose at a $50 motel to regroup and take scalding hot showers. I tell ya what, after taking a solar shower in the snow this motel is like the fucking Hilton. Washing my hair that has been in braids and stuffed under a beanie was an exercise in patience, but I got the job done.

Our plan is to head toward warmer temperatures and find a place to set up camp.

Mentally I’m doing well. I had another telehealth appointment with my psychiatrist. She explained how my brain has been wired to believe “it’s never ok”. I am on the waiting list for the healing trauma program as I will only work with female practitioners. She said it’s worth the wait as it will help to gently re-wire by brain and get out of PTSD mode. In the meantime she upped my dose of buspar and said I can pop a gabapentin anytime I have a fibromyalgia flare or anxiety I can get control of.

Cricket is no longer with us.

I don’t want to talk about it.

I’ll likely never want to talk about it.

I feel like someone took an ice-cream scooper and gouged out my insides.

Homeless Glamping Nomads

Yes we are alive, and yes this is our tent, inflatable couch and all.

We have come in to town to check email n things. We are sitting outside the closed public library in the car using their free internet.

We are staying at a beautiful wooded site, on a creek near the mountains. Our first 3 nights have been smooth. We will stay here at least 3 or 4 more nights as we try to get the hang of things.

We are very fortunate to have glamping gear for our newfound homelessness. Even Cricket is enjoying the hell out of it.

I’m happily devouring Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” and will likely start it over once I’ve finished it. How have I not picked this book up before, it came out it 1963…….where have I been?

I’m gradually becoming friends with the insta pot. We made a green curry that was quite edible and some oatmeal with apples, cranberries and walnuts. I’ve also decided it makes a great place to do the dishes. They come out steamy, just like a dishwasher.

I much prefer the old fashioned method and Jase makes for some great scenery.

Well, that’s it for now, I hope everyone is well! We must get back as Cricket is back at the homestead and is bound to be hosting a kegger with the woodland creatures.

When Life Hurts

Cricket the cat is quite frankly the love of my life. My little angel in a cat suit.

She puts the goof in ball.

My life has taken yet another unexpected turn in the last 2 days, one that I don’t feel at liberty to share just yet. It’s painful and ugly and it hurts. It’s ok to be sad and terrified while simultaneously doing what needs doing until moving out in 5 days.

I need to take the next few days off from blogging to clear my head.

I appreciate each and everyone of you for sharing your lives with me. I love the stories you share and it never ceases to amaze me that good people stop and read what I have to say. It’s crazy! Love you guys 🙂

PTSD And Other Shenanigans

Giddy-up.

Had a 2 hour telehealth appointment. I’m told all symptoms point to PTSD. Makes sense.

I drag around a trunk of unresolved traumas, both new and old. Not because I’m sadistic, because I’ve been trying to resolve things on my own without professional help.

I’ve also written things off. “Oh, that was so long ago, I’m over it. There’s no way THAT is still having an effect on me.”

I’ve found pockets of relief here and there, but nothing substantial.

Seeing as I have a plethora of coping mechanisms already in place they are putting me in their healing trauma program. The sessions will also be via telehealth.

I’m thankful for what feels like some answers and direction.

We are down to 10 days until tent life begins. What a perfect accompaniment to the healing process.

Operation Tampon Run

“Black Betty” goes to Walgreens.

The 1977 hit from Ram Jam kept looping in my head during my excursion.

I got what I needed and made a quick exit. Tampons and earplugs. I tried to joke with the elderly gent at the register the earplugs were for my boyfriend. He was hard of hearing so the joke fell flat like a brick.

Anyhoo, it was a beautiful day so I found a place to stroll in the sun and talk to Archie and then a bestie of mine. My anxiety calmed and it felt good to be out.

The thing that touched my heart the most, is my bestie shared that she called a suicide helpline to find out the best way to talk with me after my overdose. She didn’t want to say anything that would come across as hurtful.

What a beautiful act of kindness. How caring and thoughtful.

We were both disturbed at the fact she was on hold for 25 minutes. She said if she were suicidal she would have been dead. The man on the line explained that with covid they are unable to keep up. What an unfortunate reality.

My anxiety is high again today. I can’t stop shaking and my heart is pounding. I suppose it’s time to stop procrastinating and start packing.

I’m also working on an insta pot menu as our plan is too keep our grocery bill to $50 a week while we tent it.

Thank you to everyone on here for reading my ramblings. Hope you are all well, I appreciate you.

Diva Cups and Hot Pink Coolers

I have to leave the house today for tampons. I ordered a diva cup and it hasn’t arrived yet.

Not familiar with the diva cup? It’s a flexible cup you stick in your cooch when you’re menstruating. I was hoping to have it now so I wouldn’t have to get acquainted with it out in the backcountry. Dreams do not always come true.

The magnet above, holding Archie’s artwork in place, is from my older sister. It pretty much sums up how I feel about leaving the house today.

I know it will be good to get out, but my anxiety is off the charts. I woke up with a pounding chest, shaky limbs and the feeling of my blood racing.

Pisses me off to wake up like that. It makes it feel out of my control. I literally open my eyes and Whoop there it is. No warning, no time to prepare. Just a slap in the face.

I did finally get a call through to mental health partners. Service is patchy at our house and the service gods were shining down on me today.

I have a 2 hour phone call scheduled for Monday. I will have to sit in a parking lot somewhere.

It will be good practice for future appointments since we will be on the road campsite jumping. BLM lands let you stay in one spot for 14 days and then you have to pack up and move at least 20 miles.

I’m grateful we have such nice gear, who knew we were making such an investment. It’s sad that if our gear didn’t make us appear “wealthy” we would get picked on by the rangers. We’ve heard horror stories of people getting fucked with.

They still might pick on us seeing as our Yeti cooler is bright salmon colored….borderline hot pink

Such is the society we live in. Gotta look good on the outside.

Cluster Clucks

Cluster~fuck: a complex, and utterly disordered and mismanaged situation: a muddled mess.

Ashley’s post on how to spot fake health news got me in the cluster~fuck mood. Here in the states you’re better off not reading the news at all.

About anything. EVER.

I received this video below in my e-mail and had to share. It about sums it up. Hopefully it will work. It’s from FB and I don’t have a FB account.

I needed a break from packing and organizing, also a cluster~fuck. But I did come across my teeth whitening trays so at least I’m multitasking. My teeth were looking a little dingy. Now they will be white enough to blind the grizzly bears while I’m screaming for my life. Meh, who needs bear spray?

There’s a lot to consider when moving into a tent. Like changing our address.

5506 Tent Life Boulevard, Bumblefuck U.S.A

I’ve changed my address 5 times in the past 4 years. I’ve been a nomad in the making all along. At least the bill collectors won’t be able to find me.