a good time

How do you measure a good time?

I think I use different gauges for different events-
But this is what it was like for me this morning and why I knew it was a good time.

The alarm pierced my dreamlike state and I was violently reminded that I needed to get an early start. I stretched greedily and buried my head full of curls into the pillow in protest to the idea of accepting the start of new day with less than 3 hours of sleep to support me.

Ah, but that's the give-and-take of it: awesome late nights collect their bills come the morning time.

Then I listened to morning-quiet outside sounds. I peeked out to see the early-gray of the day. I steeped in the goodness of my sore body and muscles; in the pasty-yuk of my overnight mouth; in the twisted state of my sleeping bag- I had indeed been camping and having a fabulous time! And it was over. Time to leave.

And so I did. Rolling up my sleeping bag, gathering all my things, saying goodbye to the red-embers of last night's fire, brushing my teeth and spitting into the leaves- only took moments. A few added moments to say my goodbyes. And a few more for traversing the seeming-endless gravel roads of the park.

And then, I was on HWY 49:
Gulping my weekend-stale water from the Nalgene bottle- accepting its stagnant taste as one of the sweetest, most refreshing moments of hydration- ever (I was really thirsty and dehydrated from a night of alcoholic debauchery). Watching the sun turn the gray clouds silvery-white; and appreciating how beautiful green leaves against a gray sky truly is in my sight. Listening to Candlebox on the local rock station- knowing that it was the perfect soundtrack-like song for the ending credits of my trip.

And somewhere in the mix of it all- I breathed deeply and sighed heavily- so very happy and so very satisfied. This was the measure of my good time this time.