My tinder profile reads: Feminist; parent to a neurotic poodle; weirdly attracted to Jed Bartlett - isn't everyone? I've been living in Brisbane, Australia for the last five years, but I'm from Melbourne. Which is very important to people from Melbourne. Before I quit my job to hike the PCT I was working as an ER nurse, sewing my own clothes and consuming books like they're peanut butter m&m's at the end of a 25 mile day. I read Wild when I was 14 and I've wanted to hike the PCT ever since. I started doing that on April 5th 2022.
Feeling very wise, and high as fuck, I calmly explained to her how to rip his ears off - the ears you see, are not attached to the head by very much at all.
I feel certain that if was a local living rough and I'd hung my poorly-washed, torn and stained clothes on a fence to dry, I'd be moved on.
When I was growing up on our farm, every summer was tense. Fire was a real and present danger every minute of every day. The radio is always on. The car stays packed for evacuation. The photo albums are buried deep in the back yard. Intricate systems of 40 gallon drums of water and hoses snake across our property and everybody always knows exactly where the boltcutters are. If a fire is too close to evacuate livestock, your best bet is to cut the fences and let them run.
It's the most American thing I've ever put in my mouth, and I shagged a Baptist marine from Alabama in Vegas in 2013.
I reach into my pocket and pull it out without saying anything. I feel like Santa on Christmas morning.
Over the next three weeks I rest in trail towns. I make out with a pretty boy in a filthy hot tub and then later paint his nails by headlamp sitting naked on the floor of a hotel room in Ridgecrest. It doesn't feel like I'm on a thru-hike anymore. I'm anxious all the time. It's precisely the style of overthinking and micromanaging of my life that I was running away from, and now I can't run.