Today, I listened to an interview with the author of "Hamlet's Blackberry." The gist of it was that we are addicted to being connected and are becoming disconnected from being present, being with those around us, and even being alone.
I'm at as much fault for worrying about this blog as I am for checking Facebook while I drive. These trips were as much about disconnecting as connecting. Like resetting the harddrive to an earlier, uncorrupted version that also becomes installed with a new language. Today's was called Idaho.
I pulled off early--earlier than I needed to--because I wanted to reconnect. I was sleepy from driving, and wanted to be spontaneous. I puked off at a camping sign at 5. The first campground was crowded, by the river and in sight of the freeway. Signs promised another campground farther in. Soon, the road became dirt, then one-lane, then thickly forested. There was no turning around. Each time I leased a slight widening of the road, my panicked mind would scream, "now's your chance!" But i'd come so far already...
When I got to the campground, there was a space I could turn around or go in so I went in. The road became more primitive. The sites were mostly tent pads, barely enough for a car, not to mention a trailer. Then, one with a pull-through. Hm, too narrow. The next one had a curve else enough for a trailer. In we went.
I felt guilty spending money on a site with no amenities, still in the child plains of Idaho, but I had terror too, thinking if copulating that road out, with nothing to sure for it.
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