I want to go camping. Now. This minute. I need to see that sun. I need to beat on that drum, in time with my heart. I grew up with it, and now it is in my blood. Now when I try to concentrate on something, I feel a blatant need to press my body against the grass to breathe it all in. (As a child did you make mud pies? Did you smear the mud across your face and smile? It is very like that.) I can be myself when I am away. I drink cider, play, dance. I am like I am no where else. In what other situation is that freedom available? At school I was an imitation of that person, a ghost; barely there. While camping I can drop the mask utterly. I don't have to care.
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