I think I started driving around 7 AM. I returned my key, gathered all my stuff, and put them in my car. The arson book has taken residency on my passenger seat and all my keychains are hanging from my mirror. If I'm making this much of an effort to be a hoarder, I might as well look the part.

Side note: I might be an idiot because I forgot that there is a CD player in my car. I played the folk CD while I drove. It isn't my usual tune—I barely listen to music in the first place—but it was a break from staticky radio stations.

It's nice to drive again. Getting groceries or going to work doesn't count as driving, not really. I remember driving like this back in college when I was with Talon (who I still don't know whether or not that name was real). It was those conversation-less drives, the sounds coming from the engine and the jank radio, that I actually enjoyed about that relationship.

Man, Talon and I were the worst couple.

I ended up on a hiking trail. I saw a large parking lot, and the promise of a restroom, and I took it. It's a trail with three checkpoints: the first at the base of this mountain called Mount Clover, another at the midpoint, and the last at the peak. It was a weird, split-second decision to turn back and get my running shoes from the car.

I did take a lot of pictures as I walked but it's so easy to forget to. The first checkpoint was so easy to reach that I went ahead to the second. Uphill, as I've learned, was a thing made by the devil. Gravel is also made by the devil. There is nothing more terrifying than walking up gravelly steps with a high chance of tumbling backwards. I was too times slower than everyone around. The walking and sweating made me want to die in every possible way.

But I liked the hiking. A three-hour walk to the peak and, let me say, I understand why people hype of hiking. That view. Trees that go for so long that it looks like it's endless. The only time there is a break from the green were long cuts of rivers or lakes. It looked clean. It feels clean. I made it up on the peak. So had everyone else on the trail who was taking pictures and chatting with one another, but I didn't think I'd make it. I had several notions of turning back just on the trip to the second checkpoint.

"I want to do this again" was my thought when I began walking down. I'm thirsty, sweaty, and aching but I want to do it again. I wish I could see a thousand more treetops and a thousand more streams. I want to hear the chirps, squeaks, croaks, and every sound that this part of the world can show me. I'm pretty sure the thin air and the lack of breath I had made me insane.

When I made it back down, I got in my car. Even when everything about me was achy, my want for a cheeseburger was greater. I went to the nearest fast food joint and also looked for motels near me. I could sleep in my car but the thought made my neck hurt. I'd also prefer somewhere to shower after everything.

How can someone be so tired and so filled with energy? I did more exercise than I have done since I went to that company picnic. I feel like I have buckets of energy to spend. Is that adrenaline? Or did I actually slip on the gravel and have the biggest concussion in the world?

The way to the motel was through a residential area. There was a big yard sale that stretched a couple of houses. The stuff was cheap and they looked half an hour before closing up so I stopped by. A lot of the "good stuff" was taken in the morning but I feel like feeding off the scraps of scraps was a good use of my time.

I found an old picture of Mount Clover mixed with a pile of photographs and old stickers. I probably wouldn't have recognised it if not for the familiar stone arch in the background. The color was fading and the edges were ripped. Isn't it cool I found that? Probably not since these people live near the hiking trail but I think it's neat.

I also got a fake pot of orchids. There is no shot I'd kill these. It'd also be nice to put on the kitchen table. Brighten things up, as people say.

The last thing I got—See? I'm practicing self-control today—was this little zine of a fictional world. From the cover, it was made by a kid named Sam back in the 9th grade. From the quality of the art, I'd at least think it was an 11th-grader who made it so kudos to them. The thing reminded me of the zines I used to make when I was in high school too. I really wish I didn't throw those away.

The little, old lady who sold me it gave it up for very cheap. She also reminisced about her kid Sam as she looked at the zine. A sweet-sounding kid for sure.

After that, I found the motel and checked in. Any energy I had earlier was short-term and I'm pretty sure I passed out immediately. It was the best sleep I had in ages.