Always click save

I had an entire post ready to share today. I worked hours on it, as I do every post. And just as I was adding photos, my internet disconnected, and all of my work was swept away. I didn’t click save.

As I am grappling with that frustration, I will start again. ~~life~~

And it happened a second time. The culprit seems to be the Grammarly extension in my browser. Beware the Grammarly extension. Who also critiqued me saying my writing sounded ‘forceful’. Okay, Grammarly! For chrissake, save.

Inhalation. Exhalation.

I picked Celeste up from the Airport on Friday, in a backward world where I live in Arizona and she flies in form Missouri. The week she was gone I had played house in her apartment, taking care of the cats, cleaning, and organizing her closets like the OCD maniac I am. After timidly asking if I can go through all of her things, I spent an evening listening to podcasts, drinking gin, and organizing her closets. (Swear this is a fun time for me) Earlier in the week, I went out with a mutual friend from home, Ernie, and a new friend Jasmine. He recommended great spots around downtown Phoenix, and I had a great night out before Thanksgiving, playing arcade games and drinking local beer. The threat of floods kept me indoors on Thanksgiving, cooking heaps of stuffing, mashed potatoes, and shrimp. I video-chatted with family and took myself to a movie that night. It was the strangest Thanksgiving I have had, but I enjoyed the change., the solitude, and most importantly, the shrimp.

When we pulled back into her apartment, I handed the keys over and ended my short spell as an Arizonian. I would leave Sunday and head south to Tucson before heading into New Mexico. This time I was ready. We spent the weekend doing nothing much if we could swing it. Binging the latest season of Insecure, watching the entire limited series of Mrs. Fletcher, and sitting quietly watching the beautiful and devasting documentary on climate change, Ice on Fire. We had heard the cinematographer speak passionately about climate change at the summit we had attended and finally had HBO access to watch. We left the house only to eat and go on important Target runs, once bringing back wine to enjoy the last night I was there. Sunday came too soon, and slowly I began to move my things back into my van. I managed to procrastinate until 5 pm when I finally pulled Luna onto my back and headed out the door. We said goodbye in the parking lot, promising to see each other soon. I climbed into the van and typed my destination into my GPS, knowing I was closing this chapter of my journey as I pulled out of the parking lot.

After waiting in traffic on 10 for an hour, I finally made it to Tucson past dark. I pulled in to a rugged, muddy, dirt campground west of town. I pulled out all of my planners and notebooks and began scheduling the next day. I thought I would get out here and hit the ground running, effortlessly finding campgrounds, sightseeing and hiking in the daytime, writing and photographing in the evening. I didn’t take into account the short days, the chasing of service, and the tug of sleep that still found me daily. So I adjusted my expectations: First, I will figure out how to live in a van, then I will begin to figure out the rest. I wrote in my planner, ‘coffee shop, propane, meditate’. The next morning I worked in a local coffee shop for a few hours, furiously typing contacts into a spreadsheet as I sipped my matcha latte. A few weeks earlier I had been offered contract work to find and create a database of new contacts for a company I have previously worked for. I am so grateful and lucky to have this opportunity while I’m out here trying to figure everything out. The fear of money drying up is constant, and I am only getting started. This gives me hope.

I stayed in Mescal, AZ on BLM land that evening, really pushing it with the amount of battery I had left in the cab. But the nights come too soon, and I had to find a campground before it was dark. I passed the Mescal Old West set down the road from where I slept and spent the evening reading about it when I could find a bar of service. Allowing myself to be romanticized by old westerns, I compiled a list of moves to watch that were filmed at the location: Tombstone, The Quick and the Dead, Ghost Town, Night of the Lepus.

I stared into the fire until the wood burned into coals, stomping it out and placing rocks on top of it before heading to bed. With the heater on, it was cozy inside, and I drifted to sleep easily.

Until waking up at 4:30am with a dead battery and no heater. Lessons learned.

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