Take off – February 13

I took the photo at ten twelve, now it’s ten seventeen.  That’s how long it took me to get the photo into this post.

For me, computers used to be click, click, done.  One of my favorite phrases and responses.

“Can you do ____?”

Sure, no problem, click, click, done.  Then I’d do it.  Reach over to my mouse, scroll the screen, maybe right click for a context menu, and click click done.  The email was sent.  The database was repaired. The website was back online. Click click done.  No problem.

Today it took my five minutes on my kindergarten computer to get it done.  And yes, although this machine and its operating system are new to me, it’s not that new.  For over two months I’ve been a Mac user.

OMG.  I wasn’t going to say anything to anyone about this.  I told my youngest son months ago.  For two months I’ve been using it.  It really is as easy as an iPhone.  Just bigger and with a keyboard.  Just find the right app and tap.  Five minutes to snap a photo, click the right app, import the photo to Lightroom, a minor adjustment, export and upload it here.

That was not click click done.  It does not feel like click click done anymore.  When I’m trying to use my computer, or figure out some other things, even simple things, my mind is not click click done anymore.  It’s click click done.

Feels like I’m thinking through quicksand. I don’t know what that analogy means.  Such as with my leg and it’s slow nerve responses, it feels like my left left is walking in water, and my right leg is not. Learning to walk- I hoped meant fixing that- yet instead I’m just learning how to mitigate it.  Yes, I was better, feeling good.  Yet, there is a stutter in my stride that isn’t going anywhere.

I could video my walk, my gait. I could make myself naked and do calisthenics for the camera.  Over time I could document what parts are improving and what parts are not. I could even show those videos to a professional for advice. Yet what do I do for my mind.  How do I document it?  How do I describe what thinking through quicksand means.

If I relax, if I’m calm, and if I let myself be patient, the words come, the thoughts, and most importantly the answers come.  Yet if I rush, quicksand. Fear, panic, anxiety. I woke at seven am, it is now nine thirty four (sorry, I did not go back in time, now I’m looking at my laptop clock set on Texas time, you can substitute nine for ten in my first paragraph, if you’d like this entire post in the same timezone) with a single goal.

Roll up the sleeping bag and go to New Mexico.

Two hours and thirty six minutes later, I’m almost about to do that.  What have I done?  A morning smoke of my pipe, while I watched the morning sky, a photo and a Facebook post of that sky, rolled the bag, a walk to the bathroom and the morning duties, back to my car to pack the bag, a brief conversation with Larry (skipping Larry story for now, for time) while I packed.  Now this post.  Then breakfast, then I’ll be on the road.  Three hours to get on the road with nothing to pack at all

Quicksand. It’s okay, I’m in no rush. No rush at all. Breathe.

Taking off.  The car is packed. I’m going to have my cereal and drive. I might make it to Jal today. Maybe.

I’m glad I got to meet Larry here.  Almost like meeting Kent.  Completely different people, yet chance meetings bringing random topics to the forefront of my mind.  Some thoughts race through my mind still.  Gold sure did, I can still think of all the things Kent shared with me.  The bends of the river, where the gold falls, better places to pan and what to look for in the colors of mud.  Racing through my mind. I can still see Kent telling me all of his stories, as if he was here telling them again to me right now.

Computers have been quicksand, yet maybe not all of tech.  Larry is a python developer.  The conversation let parts of my mind race that haven’t moved in a while.  That is good.  I am glad it took so long to leave Mathis, that I had this night at Choke canyon.

I almost got to see wild pigs, yet I was in the bathroom.  Larry videoed the pigs near my car and picnic table where I slept.  I gave him my address, hope to see and share it later.

Time to (eat cereal, then) drive.


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