– At Rope Camp, my NYR Cabin name was changed. I asked for the switch; Cabin Bitch didn’t feel right to me anymore. I am now Cabin Scribe. It seemed fitting to me, what with my recounting of our harrowing events of last year (and this one as well). Murphy worried that the name change told more about what I did then who I am. But I am a writer, have always been a writer, and will always be a writer no matter the circumstance, so in the end he accepted it.
– I don’t know if it’s considered a life crisis when you ask yourself the same questions every year or so. Is this really what I want to do for the rest of my life? Are these the people I want to be around, the job I want to perform, the life I want to live? But the bigger question, the one which I never give an answer to, is: Am I willing to change that?
– I hate the cold. HATE the cold. I was born in July, a summer baby, and have always felt immensely better in the dead heat than in the bitter cold. I’ve started layering already, breaking out my scarves and work hoodie. No more sandals. Short skirts now include crotchless tights. I need to make or purchase another hat. I hate the fucking cold.
– I leave for London in 25 hours. Writing just that brought a huge smile to my face. I don’t know if I’ll see any sights or just spend my time with CherryBondage, but either way I get my first stamp in my passport this weekend.
And I get to go to my second Grue. My first was amazing and I’m hoping the second will be just as awesome, if not more so. Unlike last time, there is only one “class” I want to “teach” and it has nothing to do with rope. Well, it could, though in this instance it involves tights and tennis balls and it’s less about my teaching and more about me picking people’s brains who know the subject matter better than I (being a complete and total novice).
– With my moleskin in my back pocket wherever I go, I have given myself a level of comfort I had not expected. I don’t scribble in it every day, but when I do, whether it’s jotting down a poem or random thoughts, flushing out my feelings or taking notes on a podcast I’m listening to, I feel like me.
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