crying uncle

8.22.2012

It’s always good to get off the mountain when trouble brews.  Where to go.  The city, another city.  Long walks have three options and from there?  Another hotel for a night?  A change of pace, it’s ridiculous, how often I need a change of pace.  Last night’s overwhelming display of frustration led to the family having breakfast together.  I was given my breakfast outside.  I’m sure my influence with regards to eating when I am hungry and not when the family eats may have contributed to this ‘what is my role here in this family, we don’t eat together, we’re not eating our food…’ ya da, I speculate. 

In any case, not staying busy leads to the itches.  Less than two weeks from a planned trek up to Annapurna.  Am I in worse shape today than I was when I trekked to Muktinah?  Well, I didn’t smoke cheroot then…the sun makes a breach…

I think it’s time to give facebook a cleaning.  What’s a cleaning?  The disconnecting with those I never hear from and those who ignore my questions.  The former is understandable but the latter, are we required to answer everything you say, no matter how bizarre it may come across?  That bizarre interpretation is speculative because unless people respond I can only imagine and we are left to think that silence is a show of disapproval. 

I hate the silent treatment and I am no stranger to doing it myself.  FB silence isn’t as bad since distance and dimension loss leave much to understand on the other side.  Nevertheless, I know I am the crazy uncle. 

I think stepping down from FB for a while, until a return from the trek, would be good.  A three week leave concentrating on this blog will be good.  Photos uploaded here are faster anyway. 

There was so much hope three years ago.  It is hard to admit but I thought I had the greatest story ever told in history and all the riches and acclaim that came with that wasn’t just a fantasy, an element of doubt remained, and does to this day.  To become wealthy with a story that may not be true sounds like a worst deceit, but I considered how I would be rich from it, it feels awfully selfish and unnecessary since you live alone.  ‘Yes, Lisa, I did find that island with my name on it, and it is available…’ If I were a rich man, singing it every where.   Getting rich with a story about the end of the world just isn’t right.  The affluent shaman maybe…maybe he had an idea but it wasn’t right. Wealth, a princess of 8, a movie, a book, all dreams. 

I wish coincidences were just simple dreams.  But they bloody aren’t. 

I want to be wrong, I don’t want to be wrong.  I speculate what could happen if the world doesn’t end as we know it.  To go on as if nothing happened, to accept the delusions and illusions and a wild imagination just totals to nothing more than a terrible case of cognitive dissonance.

I don’t believe that either.  But it could be true.  I will be happy to not write like this anymore.

A half dollar size spider was sleeping in my hat when I put it on, and I didn’t know it was escaping until I felt it on my leg.  I’m getting steam up for a circuitous walk to Moti’s for coffee.  Take the camera.  No Facebook photos.  Do you punish yourself or others when you make such decisions?  I think myself.  FB goes too fast and people forget quickly.  Sharing is nice, saying stupid things isn’t and it’s just time to shut up.  So, photos are ok?  I don’t know.  I think abstaining from any contact for a while is good.  Reading of others what goings ons is ok?  That’s what leaves you saying regrettable and hastily thought out things.

I think if I could do at least six or seven walks in the circuit every day I should be ready for Annapurna Base Camp.  I stopped at Moti’s Panoramic View Guesthouse, located at the end of the railed-steps with stunning vistas of Pewa Tal and the valley and Dan and his son were there.  It would take an entire blog to explain Dan’s story and his project up here but needless to say we talked and he supported the 12.21.12 party on the mountain, Moti refrained from offering a hasty opinion. 

Time for soup.  A leech on the top of my foot left a gnarly pool of blood that dripped onto my other foot.  Yuck and cool, my first leech. 

A group of Japanese travelers have checked into two rooms, with pink cameras come cute girls old enough to vote.  Suraksha in her painted face charms the ladies.  Their male counterweight looks shyly on.  Three masala chais a plain lassi and a banana lassi I was fortunate to have received a small glass of, was good enough to persuade them, if the food holds down, let’s enjoy a nice room to go with it.  And the views. 

And the old man in room six wrapped in a shawl that probably only women wear, will remain out of your shadows.

The painted face girl enjoys the Hersheys Dark Chocolate Bar, dividing up the last of the rectangular pieces’ ‘ok, six pieces, two for you, two for me, one for daddy, one for mommy. ‘  “daddy doesn’t like sweets”  ‘ and mommy can’t eat this, she no like’… (not exactly true)… ok, three for me three for you’.

Isn’t this what uncles do best?