*blue balls not included.
The gang is embarking on another camping adventure in Boondock, PA today for the remainder of the weekend. While I’m reminded of several camping memories from when I was younger, there is one particular incident from a camping trip two summers ago that still affects me as though it happened yesterday: The SSD Voice Mail.
It happened after our first break up. And it was the first time I had heard his voice in a couple months. His message was a ten-minute drunk rambling after his friend’s wedding that insisted that I was “his true love” (in agreement with his friends in the background) and that he would do whatever-it-is to make things up to me.
Being in the middle of nowhere, with limited cell coverage (where I couldn’t listen to the message in its entirety for two more days) turned my world completely upside-down. I had to mentally prepare myself in the car with friends to listen to it. Then, of course, I started to cry because it was everything I had wanted to hear… albeit months too late.
You know the story, if you have paid any attention to my blog. We did eventually get back together — although the long distance was still a factor — he met someone else, and they moved in together. End of story.
Thankfully, I have been able to detach myself from the sad emotions tied to that message. When I see SSD’s name come up now in the new message list, it doesn’t wreck havoc or induce panic, as we have some odd friendship bond again.
But I for whatever reason, while I’m packing up for another weekend in the wilderness, I think about him.
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This blog is about pursuit: a transplanted Clevelander (me) in a new city (that's you, Pittsburgh!), pursuing the role of a self-employed copywriter, becoming a roller derby badass and somehow merging all my to-do items into one ever-growing Bucket List.
And of MY boyfriend. His blue balls started this mess.
