Can We Talk?

 

 

Okay. Yesterday I shared some of my Rock Camp prep with you, and it was honest. I didn’t shy away from the details (stink factor, ahem), and that was good.

 

Cut to one day later, and I’m already dragging. A shopping stock-up was tackled and a little spreadsheet work was done. Some other prep work took place, along with my life, and y’all – I’m wiped! Now, I do know the danged heat played a part in that, as I got so hot on the un-air-conditioned ride home that my vision started to go wonky. It was unsettling, I tell ya.

 

I suppose I’m starting to wonder if I’m too old for this. The dark part of my brain desperately wants me to buy into that, and my body doesn’t do much to make me believe otherwise. (Getting over The Crud doesn’t help, either.) The little girls who attend Rock Camp are the same age each year. And they’re exactly as they should be. There are always fresh new volunteer faces each year, too. And though their ages vary, they’re awesome and young. Sure – there are loads of returning volunteers, like me, and we’re not immune to the clock’s ticking. But most of those gals are still younger than yours truly.

 

I don’t know. It’s a slippery slope, and I really don’t want to slide down face-first. I know that if I start wallowing in feeling old, I’ll sink. And I don’t want to sink. I love feeling positive. I love being sunshine-y.  I love believing the universe is conspiring in my favor. And I love Rock Camp. It’s just wearing me out, y’all. And I know those stairs at Rock Camp are coming. Dear Lord – hep me, um-kay?