Death: Depends on the Day

A couple of weeks ago I camped in the woods of Maine. My boyfriend Jack had to meet me up in Maine later in the trip. He had a convention to attend. It ran long. The convention dealt with something like teaching deaf people without arms, living in impoverished countries how sign with their toes. The linguists wanted to unify foot sign language for the whole world—meaning, no dialects, one language of foot symbols for the planet Earth. Needless to type the convention went into overtime and Jack had to meet me in Maine instead of traveling with me.

My first night I slept alone in the woods. It was dark and quiet. For a city gal there’s nothing scarier. Well, one thing, when that silence is broken by an indefinable single noise. I knew it was some form of death. However, I was not about to go and check out what form of death had arrived in. I’ve seen enough horror movies (like 3) through my fingers to know a person does not go out and check things out. No, instead I turned on my flashlight because human-consuming animals and serial killers are like cockroaches and prefer the dark. They also prefer their victims dormant. It’s less of a struggle to rip life from a sleeping person. I remained awake in the warm glow of my flashlight and I lived. —Obviously because I’ve typed this post.

The next day I began to laugh at myself. Not because I stayed awake with my flashlight, that is completely logical, as I’m alive, and therefore completely correct in my camping tactics. What I thought was funny was how during my regular NYC life I have seriously contemplated stepping into on-coming traffic and ending it all. (My fear of fucking it up and ending up a quadriplegic instead of dead outweighs my hatred of life and I usually stay on the curb.) But the moment I my life is threatened I immediately want to live. I will forgo sleep, I will run far and fast whatever it takes I’m ready to live! All those suicidal thoughts fly right out of my head. All the things I obsess about no longer matter. I guess I'm a control freak. I'll leave this shitty party we call life on Earth when I decide I'm not getting bounced.

So maybe instead of prescribing anti-depressants to people we just need to experience more life-threatening situations like camping by oneself.


nicole said…
why is it that when you're in the forest, someone has to die? and why is it usually me?