I am tired. We are tired. Some idiots running around the campground at midnights. Yahooing as my dad would have said.
Master X reminds me a lot of my dad in that he is an extrovert, has his own head about which direction the day will take, but also holds a wicked sense of humour. He is easy to get to laugh, much like his Opa. It is sweet.
It is our first time camping with our dog Punk since Master X was born (too early to drink beer Mr. A proclaims). He barked when the Yahoos were screaming past in the middle of the night. That was not a helpful reaction, Punk, but thanks for thinking of us and trying to guard.
I stumbled out of the caravan early (too early Mr. A inputs), grumbling about the sun, the six o’clock wake-up, falling down the slope towards the bathroom. And then I glance up. Ocean. Wide spanning blueness expanding and weaving, washing over my senses. It was lovely. I could see the loveliness this morning, but much like yesterday, did not feel it. Normally such a stunning setting would, well, stun me. But for some reason this is not happening for me at this location. I can appreciate the sound, the unique nature of the waves crashing loudly in a quiet morning setting (the yahoos must have passed out), but I am not able to feel the sound.
We have been resting, fighting, cuddling and ignoring with Master X for over two hours trying for more sleep. For him, or for us, I do not know. All I know is that despite all the eye rubbing and almost-there-closed-eyes that we are up, awake, bleary-eyed against the day. Maybe I should find somewhere to sit, soon, outside. And try to feel. Or maybe stop trying, and just being with not feeling. But it is difficult to be when you know what it could be, should be, might be. I just feel numb about it, but not in a depressive way. Just in a numb way.