Speechless

I hate it when this happens. When I desperately want to say something but have no idea what to say. What effect does it have? Do I look like I don't care? Do I look stupid? If I do say something, how will I know it doesn't come off the wrong way, particularly if the remark would have been a lighthearted one? The situation only gets worse when I am around multiple people. I want to join the conversation, but I don't know when or how. Even long-time friends.

Tomorrow at camp we have Bobby Weinapple for two hours. This means the Grueling Dramatic Improv Scenes. Last year I never felt that I rose to his expectations of me, of us in general, so now I'm psyched. I hope he puts me in a scene, and I hope that I can stop thinking of what to say next, know what to say, and push myself to that emotional place that everyone else talks about, where they always come out shaking. Oh, here I go on this again. Not going to start.

I return to my Death valley journal. It's time to revisit Solo.

*****
Solo, Day 1. It begins. I'm in my territory now. No watch, no script (I didn't get the cast list anyway), no food beyond the predetermined rations. That may not matter, however, as I've decided to spend solo fasting. I will make sure to remain hydrated, of course. I have located a good spot for the latrine, but I don't yet know where I'll set up my tarp. Again, that may not matter, as my territory includes a wonderful shade spot at the base of the cliff, which I am enjoying at this very moment. Speaking of enjoying things, I am now going to take advantage of the change of clothes I sneaked in. My stench has again caught up with that to which my nose is accustomed...Oh, SO good! After two weeks of hiking through the wilderness, a new set of underwear makes all the difference in the world. I briefly considered spending solo naked, but there's a strict no-nudity policy on AWE, plus it would massacre my dwindling sunscreen supply. Mail arrived last night. I only got four letters (one from my parents, one from my grandmother, one from the attendance lady at school (it was a form letter), and one from a behind-the-Commons senior in my biology class), but the deadline was the 12th, so I expect I'll have more when we return to base camp. The letter from Annie was a pleasant surprise; I had no idea who might be writing to me outside of my family, seeing as most of my close friends go to different schools. Looking at my wrist, I see that I have a fairly prominent watch tan. I hope tans are the sort of thing that require maintenance; I like being pale. This is the perfect opportunity for some heavy personal reflection, but I'll start that at the top of the next page, which is two lines away. I'll also take a few minutes' break before I start to get my mind out o its current stream-of-consciousness mode. Signing off...Something I mentioned to N the other night was that I seem to be more able to open up to people when placed with them for extended periods of time. It happened with the Venetians, and it's happening with the Cougars (thought not nearly to the same extent, probably due to a mix of the shorter total time frame and that I already know these people). I am not sure whether this is just a result of my becoming more comfortable with the people or something that I automatically do as a matter of necessity to avoid going isolation-crazy. Under normal circumstances I do not open up to people quickly or easily, although I feel that has changed somewhat since last summer. I think I became more closed-up in personality late in middle school. Up through elementary school I was regarded as a pretty cool guy, a substantial part of which was my reputation of being really smart. I had plenty of friends, lived near them, saw them regularly. Then came sixth grade. Whether its was because I had changed, I hadn't changed with everyone else, or I had simply been cast into an entirely different group of people I do not know, but at school my social life went into a tailspin. At one point the two guys who did hand out with me regularly told me that their own reputations were tarnished by contact with me. As a sort of double whammy, the transition from elementary to middle school was accompanied by a move, which meant that most of my old friends dropped out of contact. Over time I guess I just got used to this. By eighth grade I know I spent many a break or lunch walking around by myself. Harkening back to the possibility of everyone else changing naturally while I stayed the same, one of my main worries or fears in life is that I am a year or two behind in maturity. It has certainly felt that way at times, and it would explain why most of my friends over the past few years have been younger than I am. Gah! No offense meant, of course! If I had to come up with a reason for this, it would be that I miss the days of elementary school and am subconsciously trying to hold myself to them. The cynical, philosopher-bashing side of me says that the above is bunk and that I just need to grow up. Anyway, there was not much change between middle and high school. Same crowd (more or less), same living location. I only had one friend who lived nearby, and by this time he and I were drifting apart. Not for any one reason; our visits just seemed to devolve into awkward silences. I spent most of my time reading, playing video games, burying myself in D&D, and trying to arrange visits with Bobby, the one friend from elementary school with whom I remained in anything resembling regular contact. At school I had hooked up with the book/anime club (two clubs, same crowd), but even there I was an outsider. Come to think of it, if our school has an "outsiders group" it's the behind-the-Commons folks, and I was attracted to them first. I was also one of the few people (maybe the only person) who still liked Frodo when he left at the end of last year. Can we edge-dwellers recognize our own kind instinctively, or is there another quality that brings us together? Most of us do seem to be geeks. It was also at the end of freshman year that acting really became my passion with Harvey. Sophomore year was fairly uneventful, although by then I had become quite the quiet one. Over the summer, as I said before, I met the Venetians, and my close friends could no longer be counted on the fingers of one hand. Even now, however, unless the conversation centers on one of a few subjects, I am not a good talker. Many a time people with whom I hang out have been chatting away merrily, and I can offer little more than my ear. Is this my nature, or is it nurture? If the latter, perhaps I can fix it...My tarp is set up. It is by no means a masterpiece, but it will serve. I am in fact a little proud of myself: one particular taut-line hitch kept getting pulled out by the wind, so after a few repairs I improvised a simpler know that can still be slid along the rope an is proving to be a lot more secure. It's a sort of layered overhand knot. The time is now sometime in the mid-afternoon. Beyond that your guess is as good as mine. My stomach hasn't yet noticed that I haven't had lunch. Good. Heh heh. The elements are failing to dislodge my shelter. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow! Okay, maybe Lear didn't have his tarp in mind when he said that, but I still thought it appropriate...I've always like the darker side of things. When I played make-believe as a kid after watching this or that Disney movie, I would always cast myself in a manner similar to the villain. Sure, Aladdin may have won the day, but Jafar was so much cooler! As a side note, show me someone who didn't play make-believe as a child and I'll show you a very boring person. I loved that back-ad-forth scene at the end of The godfather and its homage in Revenge of the Sith. I'll take Gollum over Frodo any day, I thought Visser Three was great (all of you who read the Animorphs series, please raise your hands), and if I reach a point in a book or movie where it looks like there is absolutely no chance of heroic victory (Yawgmoth anyone?) I feel, for lack of a better word, pleasant. That may be why I enjoy the War of the Spider Queen series. The protagonists are evil, the antagonists are evil, and good is a side show that gets squished at the end. As anyone who knows me is aware of, I love darker plays and have a bit of a fascination with dreams and nightmares. I can also be very creepy when I want to be. Why do I like the dark side? I wouldn't be surprised if I have been--excuse me, a rope has come loose...As I was saying, I wouldn't be surprised if I have been poisoned against good guys by reading the Ramayana. Rama, ugh. Stupid little Mary Sue fanfic--I digress. One other reason: the bad guys have a monopoly on pipe organs, the deepest and richest voices, and maybe not a monopoly, but a very large share of killer music. I am not, however, a fan of horror movies except for Army of Darkness, and that's really a comedy disguised as a horror/fantasy movie. It also has Bruce Campbell...Chalk up another point for my replacement hitch! I wish I knew what its name is...It's starting to get a bit nippy. Sun is still fairly high in the sky, but there is cloud cover. The initial excitement of solo is wearing off to be replaced by the inevitable boredom. Nothing I can't handle. Speaking of what I can and can't handle, I've decided that I will try to actually run the eight miles of run-in instead of just speed-walking them. AWE should have prepped me rather well physically, and other people say that once you've run for long enough you push through a barrier and the running practicalyl sustains itself. I can understand that, as I have found spinning to be very similar. Once you've built a head of steam, your legs will just keep spinning (Dory: Just keep spinning, just keep spinning...) because they know that you'll fall over the instant you stop. My stomach is feeling hungry, but guess what: fasting follows the same principle! I've gone thrity-six hours without eating before, so I know that after a while your body gets used to it and stops complaining. But keep in mind that when you do break your fast you'll want to have a full meal on hand. Nibble a little bit and you become STARVING. All this talk of food is probably not a good idea, so I'll finish by aying that as soon as I get back I am going to Baja Fresh and stuffing myself with guacamole. Ah! I just remembered that I ought to be airing out my toe...That is odd. Somehow I have develpoed a blister on the side of my foot. Good thing I have a couple of hiking-free days ahead of me. I also noticed an excess of flesh on the non-ingrown side of my bad toe, so I trimmed it with my nail clipper to avoid more ingrown problems. It's not as bad as it sounds: the flesh I cut off had neither blood vessels nor nerve endings...Hmph. My tarp protected me from sun and wind, but apparently it wouldn't have held up under rain. At least K helped me relocate. It's getting dark, so I'll cut my journal here for now and get some sleep.

*****

I doubt I'll finish my solo journal tomorrow, as I have a dentist appointment and a voice lesson both after camp.

EDIT: Funny that the post titled "Speechless" is anything but. Anyway, g'night.