When I wake up.. I wanna be...

Why do girls alienate other girls as a [sub]conscious social tactic? What is it about group mentality/belonging that drives them so? ___________________ I miss it. I miss the quiet unpredictability of each morning. The lucid sun clamoring to break free from the horizon, hazy sometimes, pallid and hidden by indignant rain clouds at times. The randomness of a strange bed and stranger views outside the window; the newness of carefreedom, of people milling about, getting ready to go places and do things and see everything. The pale clear nights with the universe opened, shining down twinkling revelations onto shimmering cool sand, waters lapping in a hidden bay, fireflies fluttering carelessly. The sizzling of sausages on a makeshift gas stove next to the silhouette of the tent next to gnarled trees, interrupted by the herky-jerky flash lights bumping into grass and leaves and logs at night. I miss the clear mountain air, the debate of ideals and the murmurs of ideas on a lonely trail; the burn in my calves climbing over boulders and streams, the vistas of glacial valleys and distant seas and craggy teenage peaks, the soft flowing yolky grassland set against azure skies and cotton clouds, and the dense mossy forests with silent springs and forgotten ponds. The religious sunsets burning purple and pink into the afternoon, the impatient waterfalls rushing somewhere, running over bedrocks and valleys and cliff faces; the warm sleeping bag thwarting the cold cold night. The weight of backpack and camera and dreams in a lively city; random cobblestone alleys and the ubiquitous botanical – the curved bridges - and the everdayness of people chugging along their paths, their lives set in the particular pattern of the city, waiting, wanting to be observed and so normal. The old cathedrals with its dusty memories, the lazy cafes and foodstands with strange delectable foodstuffs, the clamoring plazas and town squares and marketplaces – I miss the eyes of traveling, the ancient wizened eyes of grandmothers who’ve lived through weddings and funerals and events of their town, the exuberant eyes of teenagers wanting to get away, to start something new, to be like Amerika and MTV and New York, and the tired eyes of dads and moms coming home from work in their sad briefcases and sad meshed bags and lovely shoes. I miss the vividness of my dreams, of thoughts and ideas; on long bus rides and longer waits for a willing car – by the silent sea and the whirring train station, in meadows and valleys, on unbelievable hilltops and random uncaring girls – I miss the sights and sounds, smells and tastes and randomness of it all. I miss how each day is different and new, living isn’t confined to schedules, purposeless is forgiven, and purpose is in your hands and feet and the landscape before you. I guess I miss traveling.