Quite Camp, Really (Or: Is this a diary or a blog?)

Sitting in the courtyard at Peet's, which seems to be the only place I can really get into a happily academically productive spirit. Clearly, even this isn't working, because let me tell you blogging will not be on my quiz about mid-nineteenth century American women's rights movements tomorrow. Go figure. Also, I have set myself a really ambitious goal in the spirit of 1. boosting the economy (naturally, my most noble excuse for expenditure), and 2. expanding my knowledge of tea: before I go to England I will try every tea offered at Peet's. Last week I indulged in a fine selection of Green Teas, and at the suggestion of a Peet's employee am now venturing into Black Tea Week. Black Currant Rating: 8.5.

Anyway, mostly, I just want to point out and firmly state (to myself and the world who will no doubt relish this self-reflection) that nature is the most therapeutic tonic for troubled minds (well, mine at least). My mind wasn't exactly troubled, and what's troubling it the most is still a very significant unresolved issue, but otherwise (pretending I didn't just invalidate myself entirely), I found a lovely peace and recurring semi-epiphany this weekend.

I knew I needed a few weeks to dedicate myself to a lot of nothing, and I am very pleased that that period is now over, I have decompressed a goodly amount, and am now feeling productive once again. Step one is practice my bagpipes more. Then there's a slew of other goals, but that's number one. 

I'm just worried that I'm not doing enough. As in, I WANT to do more. Life is flying by and there's no time like the present. Of course, this sage advice I am applying to only one area of my life, and completely and willfully disregarding it (I am an idiot) in others.

In summary, I am ready to start DOING more, and with 96 ending soon, I ought to have bushels and bushels of time in which to do it. My brother (actually, everyone I know) tells me my stories are horribly boring. I want to have better stories (or get better at telling them, which is itself an accomplishment). I want to get something published. I want to make films. I want to act act act. I want to read Shakespeare's complete works. I want to continue to progress as an individual, not compromise my creative or personal production integrity, play a bigger role in the lives of others (gah, I miss Rotary), and generally feel wholly content with my progress.

This relates to camping because it was out amongst the angry swarms of mosquitoes and the rushing of Alpine streams that this periodically revived revelation surfaced once again. So there it is, NOW back to you, Elizabeth Cady Stanton...