Currently, I’m lounging on a sofa sipping coffee, and yawning uncontrollably. Thursday afternoon, kissed the Mister goodbye, before he left for work. Earlier that morning, we hung the dart board in the basement after sharing breakfast.

Wednesday, at eight, we sped down the interstate and I narrowly avoided being sucked out the sunroof of the Mister’s SUV when the front of the queen-sized mattress tied to roof caught a gust of air. (Note to self, don’t be so fucking stupid). The good news is the guest bedroom is fully equipped. Wednesday morning, jet lagged, I swore uncontrollably at the neighbor’s dog who barked an early morning wake-up call because a jogger passed by.

Tuesday afternoon, I sat next to the Mister as he navigated the traffic on the downtown connector while simultaneously muttering obscenities about Atlanta drivers. One hour prior, I tracked my flight over the courtesy monitor, and noticed our flight path passed near this blogger’s home and this blogger’s home, but I thought better of requesting the flight crew make unscheduled stops. When I looked down at the Appalachian Mountains, bordering North Carolina and Tennessee, I was reminded of the short hike we took Saturday. The world is a small place. At 9AM that morning, I completed a pen and ink drawing in my travel sketchbook.

At 8AM I was engrossed in Catcher in the Rye. At 5:30AM I was drinking pinot noir and eating grilled salmon. At 3:30AM, I waited for name to be cleared from the standby list.

Monday evening, between the hours of 7 and 12PM, I tossed and turned, counted sheep,and sang the lyrics of all the Aimee Mann songs I could remember in my head. At approximately 8PM I took an ibuprofen tablet to combat the unfortunate side effects of the headache which resulted from the over-consumption of champagne gifted to me by a flight attendant on my arrival flight to Frankfurt. I turned off the lights in anticipation of the 2AM wake-up call. Between 1 and 4 PM I dined on authentic German cuisine with the Mister and some of his coworkers in Frankfurt. (Jagerschnitzel, potatoes even Dr Adkins couldn’t resist, and respectable beer) Between 9AM and 12PM, the Mister and I explored the plotz at Wiesbaden.

Sunday evening at 2AM I arrived at the Frankfurt. I lamented the briefness of the trip, and regretted my indecisiveness regarding travel. Had I known a few days in advance I would have contacted, this lovely expat. Between the hours of 10PM and 1AM, I read the Catcher in the Rye. Between the hours of 5PM and 9PM I finished The Devil Wears Prada. From 3 to 4 PM awaited being cleared from the standby list to board the flight. From 11AM to 1PM travel by car with the Mister to Hartsfield Jackson International Airport. Between the hours of 9AM to 11AM, I packed my suitcase as I tried to decide if I would actually follow through with joining the Mister on his business trip. Who decides to fly internationally with less than three hours to prepare? Apparently someone who doesn’t want to spend three days alone with two cats.

Saturday evening, we drove home from the Smokey Mountains after a post-6-mile-hike beer and hamburger. At 7PM, we poked fun at the ostentatiousness of Pigeon Forge (Think Las Vegas with Miniature Golf, Fudge kitchens, and Jesus, instead of gambling, drinking, and legalized prostitution. Although on some level, those are really the same things.)

At 3PM, we admired the view from The Jumpoff, an overlook on the Boulevard Trail, that branches off the Appalachian Trail. This brief segment of the Appalachian Trail was moderate and ran mostly along the ridge. At 9AM we finished breakfast before parking at the trailhead.

Friday evening, we fell asleep in the hotel before the respectable hour of 10PM. Sometimes your body feels so fucking old, while your inner ten year old simultaneously plots skinny dipping in the hotel pool. At 8:30PM, we enjoyed ribs at a favorite restaurant, post-hike post-strenuous-walk to Grotto Falls.

At 7PM, we spotted a black bear and two cubs when we were leaving the trailhead. At 6PM, the Mister and passed behind the falls for a closer look. At 5PM, we drove around the park looking for the trailhead. Between 1 and 3PM, we walked around Gatlinburg proper in search of hiking shoes for the Mister, completely fascinated by what is quite possibly the last wasp stronghold in the greater south. The lack of diversity left me feeling strangely uncomfortable. At 8AM, the Mister said, “Do want to hike the Smokies?”

It’s fun being new enough to an area that you can afford yourself the guilty pleasure of exploring your own city, and yet your updated car tag entitles you to complain about all those damn tourists. Not that were are really the touristy types…

Learning the area constitutes more than locating fresh vegetables, finding suitable mexican food, and adopting a new watering hole. Following hiking paths, finding river access, and exploring the less than obvious experiences that go unadvertised on towering billboards.

This week brought seven inches of rain in two days. Nature reminds me how inconsequential I am. It’s hard to believe the following photos were snapped at the same creek. From swimming hole to white water rapids. It’s a radical change of momentum for a single canvas. Who knew Mother Nature was a manic depressive?

This is a secondary submission for Poetry Friday as sponsored by the lovely Mona. It doesn’t belong at the cat’s place, so I will store the memory here. The word for Poetry Friday is cut.

After the eight grade, the private school I attended closed. My parents enrolled me in public high school rather than than bus me with my classmates. Transferring from a class of seventeen to a class of two hundred and fifty was sobering. I didn’t fear the diversity, the larger classes or the mysteries of the cafeteria but I resented the Hell out of being torn from my safety zone. At fourteen, the sun practically rises and sets drawn by the force of adolescent ego.

I knew a few kids at the new school, but with varying class schedules and hormonal crashes, I flopped around like a fish out of water trying desperately to find a place to belong. Throughout my tenure, I tried to blend in with various groups ranging from outcasts, to nerds, to cool kids, and foreign exchange students. I was never a good blend with any, but managed to be non-threatening enough to be tolerated by most groups.

As a quiet freshman who doodled constantly in the margins of notebooks, I was quickly recruited to decorate for various dances. I painted backdrops for at least five dances I didn’t attend. It was through one of those after school drawing, painting soda sucking afternoons I met Gwen.

I was drawn to her in one of those adolescent girl crush, you’re older and you have more insight into the high school pecking order, please guide me and rescue me from my own naivety, sort of ways. She was two years older, but she was in my homeroom, so I suspect academics weren’t a priority for her. She was friendly, and what I perceived to be cool, in an off the radar way.

We were painting murals or some such activity and she realized I noticed the horizontal scars intersecting her right and left wrist. She made some flip comment about it, and I was too polite to inquire further. Until that moment, I never considered the purpose which motivated an act of self-destruction. I supposed at the time, that she must have had a reason yet I was too squeamish to consider what it might be. I never thought any different of her because of it. I was intelligent enough to realize my life experience was too limited to grasp the why, but I was relieved she hadn’t been successful. Now, I regret my reasons were largely selfish. The truth is I couldn’t imagine navigating the hallowed halls of education without Gwen’s guidance that first year.

Gwen earned enough credit to move to a junior homeroom the following year, and I didn’t see her as often. By mid-term, she was suspended for bringing alcohol on the bus. A few days into her suspension, she withdrew from school. I never saw her again. I heard a rumor my senior year that she was pregnant, but I never heard confirmation.

Occasionally I wonder where her path led. I was acquainted with her, but I can’t claim to know her or her problems any better than she knew me or mine. At times when I close my eyes, I see her hands, beautiful, delicate, but no less troubled.

I was set to post about the negotiations the Mister and I have been engaged in about an upcoming wedding. When I turned on the news channel to keep me company through my first cup of coffee and saw the tributes to fallen vets, it seemed inconsequential…at least until tomorrow.

It bothers me that we are still occupying a foreign country five years later, and it really disturbs me that our nation’s presence might have conceivably created more problems than it solved, depending upon which media outlet you choose as your source. I freely admit, I’m not very knowledgeable about the politics of war, but I am observant of the wastefulness of government.

I resent implications by our current executive branch that a citizen who does not support the war should have his or her patriotism called into question. Sure, I feign anarchist leanings, I think democracy sucks, but I recognize it’s the best system we have. I appreciate and have always supported the men and woman in uniform who defend my right to descent. For some it might seem somewhat paradoxical, but I don’t feel the least bit conflicted. I don’t hold those serving this country responsible for poor decisions made by those leading it.

When I walk through the airport, I am often awestruck by the number of troops I see dashing between the concourses, backpacks and laptops in tow. I see them hanging out with their teammates, calling their spouses, and reading magazines. They exhibit extraordinary discipline and ordinary ease. I have not yet been able to bring myself to speak to any directly and thank them personally. When I see others address them, many shift uncomfortably. Feeling awkward about the attention, in the same way I feel awkward about the hero worship.

Though the words always escape in the moment, my gratitude lives on. Thanks to those who believe in things I do not, thanks to those who have given up more than I can imagine, your sacrifices do not pass unnoticed or unappreciated.

My dad during the Korean conflict. A pragmatic man, he enlisted in the Air Force because he didn’t want to be drafted into the Army. He served one tour as an electrician keeping the runway lights functional. He was fortunate to return home. Years later, he couldn’t wire a light switch worth a damn. Use it or lose it.