I'm reluctant to tell you where my Happy Place is, because I don't want all kinds of weird bloggers messing around in my subconscious, snooping through my stuff and moving all the furniture.
So I can't tell you.
But I can tell you my SECOND Happy Place. (Yeah I have two. So what?)
It's in Hometown. It's an amazing conservation-type area called Lemoine. It has miles of natural wooded trails, and a whole range of wildlife, and waves crashing up on shore. I love it. I miss it all the time.
When I was in Hometown last Friday it was the perfect day for Lemoine. Sunny and warm(ish) and generally very pleasant.
But who the eff would have thought that all that Spring niceness and happy wildlife would combine to entirely f-ck up my Happy Place?!
Eleven of them.
Dirty bastards appearing out of effing nowhere along the trails and scaring the effing bejezus out of an already fragile and volatile Anxiety Disorder patient.
What the f-ck?
So when I saw the first little asshole (and jumped 5 feet with a shout), I went on an immediate and deliberate hunt for a snake stick.
The purpose of which was to tap in front of me to scare the snakes away before I came across the bastards under my damn feet.
|Like me, but with more anxiety, and wearing a shirt.|
The first stick was too small, so I had to bend over to tap it on the ground ahead of me. Unnatural walking posture.
The second stick was a trap. Upon reaching for it, I jumped 10 feet in the effing air and screamed at the top of my lungs because a damn snake wiggled right. next. to. my. hand.
The third stick was a bad idea. Thorns.
The fourth stick was too big. If you have to heave your snake stick over your shoulder, it's not appropriate for the task at hand.
I finally found the perfect snake stick and proceeded to tap it along the trail ahead of me the whole damn time. True story.
Then when Mom was too much of a baby (yeah, she's the baby) to walk through a mud patch, she suggested we cross the forest to another trail.
Mom: "Let's just walk across here."
Me: *fearful and nearly trembling* "What about *gulp* the snakes?"
Mom: "Oh Yeah. Well... just tap your stick across the brush."
Me: "Noooooo way. Your idea, your lead." *handing her the snake stick*
Excellent snake sticking Mom. If any of those effers were underfoot, they were long gone before I got there. Way to go, supporting your child - the hopeless neurotic wreck.