When I saw this video a couple of weeks ago, I thought “hey, here’s one of those videos that riffs on a well-known concept and although it promises to be funny, it really just ends up trying too hard…kind of like that “Things People From St. Louis Say” video that was released, like, a million years after the original ones were, and was mostly just two idiots saying the names of restaurants.”
While this video isn’t as uplifting as the “It Gets Better” series and isn’t funny, that’s only because it’s actually accurate, and because of that, it’s so, so sad. I’m not under the impression that sharing it here will have any effect on the world and the people who use it as their garbage can, but it’s nice to share the misery every once in a while, especially on days during which I’ve been rendered speechless by yet another cosmically unreasonable prick with a chip on his shoulder and no one else to take it out on.
I shouldn’t complain, though, because this week is a short one for me. I’m taking Friday off to go camping with Graham and something like 13 other people, and because they all love camping and we’re in the Pacific Northwest, that means we’re going to camp on a mountain.
On a mountain.
Maybe for some of you, “on a mountain” doesn’t sound so bad. For some of you, it probably sounds appealing. And you’re right; the mountains are appealing. I love looking at them and I appreciate their presence. But for me, actually being on a mountain and everything it entails – driving to reach the mountain (which includes a ferry, two bridges, and a road perched atop a waterside cliff), going up the mountain, having to sleep on the mountain, walking all over the mountain, and eventually praying that my shaky brakes work on the way down the mountain – triggers a bout of my heights phobia into something so intense that I got the stress shits this week.
Yep. That happens sometimes. I worry about something so much that my body develops a nervy sort of diarrhea and for once, I’m the gross one at work instead of any of the four menopausal ladies who (I’m guessing, based on the smells) eat cabbage, fruit salad, and entire sides of beef for lunch every day.
Plus, I don’t really like camping. I like parts of camping, like the sitting around outside and drinking beer with my friends parts, but all of the things leading up to and that happen after that, like packing, loading, driving, and doing all of that shit again but in reverse? I mean, wouldn’t it be easier to just go to work?
But this mountain is Birthday Mountain, and I’m experiencing all of the anxiety and dread in order to celebrate Graham’s, Courtney’s, and probably someone else’s birthdays, too. So I guess I can deal with it. I’m just finding it a little hard to cope with it right now, what with my regular fears plus being a sad piece of shit lately and everyone else is super excited and I don’t blame them, I just can’t quite reach that level. Courtney referred to it as “Erin excited,” which is probably the best way to say it even though, for others’ sakes, I wish I could make that mean something different.
So just know that if I fall off of the mountain, get mauled by a bear, or am befallen by some other wilderness-related tragedy, I would like someone to please come and take care of the cats for me, and know that my last thought was “I fucking knew this would happen.”