and I'm glad I never grew up on a mountain

Crickets.

Oh, how I hate them. I wish I could squash every last one of them but you can't find them--or anything, for that matter--in this blessed darkness.

Why did I ever let him convince me to go camping? Why? I don't care if he's my best friend, or if I used to like it when I was little. Camping is murder. Why would you want to sleep on the ground, only seperated from the cold, hard dirt by a microscopically thin layer of tarp? You might as well forget the tent all together, because it's not like it keeps the bugs out like it's supposed to. The best part of the miserable experience that is known as camping is looking at the stars, and the tent prevents it. So why not just throw it in the river and be done with it?

We've got sleeping bags. With holes in the ends so your feet are icicles in the morning. It doesn't matter that it's summer. This is the mountains, it's always winter. Except in the day, when it's the heat is nearly blistering. Or actually is, if your as prone to sunburn as my pale skin.

Why, oh why, did I ever go camping?

*------*------*------*

That started out as a complaint about the crickets last night and how they kept me up till the wee hours of the morn' but then it spurned and grew and evolved in my mind until it became a short story about camping. It's not finished yet, but when it is, I think I'm going to put it on Don't Fret, because I kind of like it and it's cynical tone. It came out of nowhere.

Honestly. I was just thinking about murdering crickets when this fell out of my brain. It was almost like JK's precious idea-dropping fairy wanted to be kind and spread the love to other people.

Of course, that can't be true, because such thing only exists in the mind of a snack-loving, Snape-stealing, dolphin-lover.

But that is really all I wanted to do, complain about crickets and talk about fairies. (They're so pretty).

Heather

to figure out how high the world could reach