This morning I understand why New Yorker’s are depicted as being so sour. If I had to fight my way through a crowd every morning to get my first cup of coffee I’d be fucking sour too!
Recently the Red Deer Creek camp has become a zoo. Usually when I’m up here there are 20 people, max. Right now there are over 200, each one of them a self-centered little prick like me. Oh, we play nice, holding the doors and nodding in the standard-noncommittal greeting that rural Canadians do. But we do it only because no one wants to be that-asshole when things go bad and our truck’s broke down in 40 below temperatures 3 hours from the closest place with electricity.
Pushing my way through the morning breakfast crowd I hate them all. It’s because of them I have shit internet out here and can’t post my pictures online or run my chat game. Their silly inconsequential lives are interfering with my equally inconsequential life, and I don’t like it.
So I grab my breakfast to go, and drive out away from camp. The wilderness is full of no-one and it’s exactly them that I seek. I still don’t have internet, but I’ll cry about that later. Right now I’m simply enjoying the solitude and the time to write. Alone we can center ourselves, we feel that we matter and our lives have meaning, amongst the throng we are no one important, just another hungry maw consuming our portion of the world.
Perhaps it’s ironic that at one of the most isolated places in all the world I’m pining for solitude.