The Slipping Days -- Grand Junction, Colorado

I'm starting this post from the living room of my current home on Chipeta Avenue. Camomile tea steams from my green thermos. Yellow light from the porch filters through the flimsy cream curtain on the front door. A bouquet of wilted red and yellow roses lingers in a blue tinted mason jar across the room. 

I wonder how long they'll sit there until someone decides to toss them. 

One roommate putters around the kitchen. Another organizes her bedroom. I listen to my yoga playlists in order to, a) help me focus on writing, and b) help me organize my dismal yoga playlists. I'm used to teaching vinyasa classes that are 60-75 minutes in length, but at The Yoga Forest, classes are a whopping 90 minutes. So I'm having to mix and match my shorter playlists to fill that extra 15 minutes.

Why does Bon Iver curse in so many of his songs? This would be a perfect yoga song. But what if one of my students notices that he says "fuck" in this bit? Damn you, Bon Iver. If you're going to make magically incoherent music, be consistent. Don't be magically incoherent and then insert a remarkably coherent "fuck".  

Blurgh. 

I leave for Guatemala in nine days.

Nine days. Nine. Fucking. Days. 

I practice packed Fat Ellie today. Stuffed her to her 65 liter brim with things like yoga pants, a polka dot puffy jacket, and a giant blue travel towel on which I'm having all my friends write, "DON'T PANIC".

Because I'm so clever. 

Fat Ellie. My dear. You're significantly fatter than usual. Unambiguously rotund.

There was a stage in my travels (as some of you will recall), wherein I prioritized the sensation of lightness above all else.

"Who needs shampoo? I got soap. Who needs razors? Hair is natural and I WILL LOVE IT IN ALL ITS FUZZY GLORY. Who needs a towel? I have a sarong that DOES EVERYTHING. Who needs bras? I will offend the world with my RAMPANTLY UNAPOLOGETIC NIPPLES!"

This phase of extreme minimalism taught me a lot. It taught me that weeks of castile soap feigning as shampoo, does not, luscious locks make. It taught me that if one must sleep in a sarong, it is rather unpleasant to use said sarong as a towel beforehand. It is also unpleasant to use sarong as a towel immediately after using it as a picnic blanket.

I also learned that leg hair is marvelous and I will keep it forever. And that there is a time and a place for nipple tamers. Like while hitchhiking with creepy Transylvanians who won't keep their eyeballs on the road or their hands to themselves.

Fat Ellie is properly plump because I have different priorities on this trip. I'm tired of sacrificing my health for lightness. I'm tired of sacrificing my comfort (to a degree, at least) for lightness. I'm tired of sacrificing the confidence that comes with feeling good in the clothes I wear for lightness.

I want a towel AND a sarong. I don't want to always be picking post-picnic dried grasses out of my leg hair when I dry myself off.

I'm bringing medicated shampoo for my psoriasis. Because incessant itching and burning pain is no longer something I'm willing to tolerate.

I'm bringing a razor. Because no matter how much I adore my leg hair (it's pretty amazing), I'm not at all fond of my armpit hair. And that's allowed. I'm allowed to let my life weigh a little more so that I can feel a little better in my body.

I'm bringing not one, not two, but THREE bras (this is unheard of for me. I can't remember the last time I owned three bras. Holy bananas). For my own comfort and for the discouragement of sketchy Transylvanians.

And I'll simply stay put longer so that I don't have to stumble under the burden of my beefy backpack on a regular basis.

Guatemala for six months. Belize for a couple of weeks. Honduras for at least a month. El Salvador for a month. That's the sort of lifestyle that can support an excessively fat Ellie. 

So I guess that's what I'll do. 

As the days slip away from me until I slide into my airplane seat heading south, I focus on filling them with art. 

 

Should I carve room into Fat Ellie for my brushes and oils? 
 

That would be unprecedented.
 

But maybe... maybe this is a part of me I'm just not willing to let go of. 
 

I fill the slipping days with friends. Ridiculous friends. The best friends. Friends I'll pine for when I'm anxious in airports and want someone's arm around me to guide me to my gate. Friends I'll pine for when I'm making all the mistakes learning Spanish, and want someone to make the mistakes with me. To turn frustration into a laugh. Friends I'll pine for when I find the BEST PUPUSA STAND, and want to share the glory of fatty tortillas with chicharron. Friends I'll pine for when I want to be understood without explaining.

Speaking of friends.

I spent last week with Janet. My friend from university now working in Dinosaur National Monument, a park that straddles Utah and Colorado. And it's... uh... not ugly.

Our brief hike to Harpers Corner was spectacular.

I wanted to camp at Echo Park and stay a week. Or two. Or until someone told me politely but firmly that I wasn't allowed to linger there forever.

The week in Dinosaur with Janet was rife with new experiences for this hippie.

I got to listen to a talk by Park Ranger Brody Young. A chap who miraculously survived being shot nine times.

There was a Chicken Tikka Masala dinner party. Wherein I got to meet a good many of Janet's park ranger friends and coworkers. Who were all fascinating and hilarious and complimented my naan appropriately. Some of whom were even game to try acro yoga with me.

I wish I could show Janet my life the way she's showing me hers. I'm just so completely happy for her. This life she's created here is incredible.

I wonder if she would be this happy for me? 

I also got to ride along in a patrol truck to Utah. Since Janet still had to work a couple days of my visit, one of her coworkers asked if I wanted to join him for the afternoon.

"It's like an office!" I exclaimed as I hopped into his decked out truck. "You've got a laptop in here. Holy bananas."

Laptop. Radios. Very large, terrifying gun (for this lady, anyway). Rather badass policeman. And me. Hippie me. Avec Teal Cecile.

How. The hell. Did I get here? 

The afternoon was glorious. I got to touch real dinosaur bones, learn how clams reproduce (it's nasty, don't even think about googling it), learn that police officers prefer you to drive 5 mph OVER the speed limit, and observe many perplexed expressions as bystanders noticed a hippie with a teal ukulele playing Bon Iver in the passenger seat of a patrol truck.

Bahaha. 
  
We drove back to Grand Junction Saturday afternoon. And I felt disappointed to be leaving so soon, but immensely grateful for the opportunity to experience the life created by someone I love.

This is a friend I'm always a bit wrecked to leave behind. A friend around whom I feel totally safe. A friend by whom I feel completely understood. But a friend I know will be here to welcome me with open arms and a refrigerator full of cheese should I ever visit again.