"Maybe I finally found it, way down here in the mud. Maybe from down here I can start up again, be something I can be proud of, without having to fake it, be a fake human being."
It rains about three times a day. Muddy trails, bugs the size of Hot-Wheels cars, huge centipedes, mosquitoes that lick up 34% DEET. A yellow jacket stung me in the arm and now it feels like a piece of pork roast. I came across a deserted camp site today and managed to scavenge a can of Dinty-Moore stew. I have three more days and 27 miles to go, Grandma. I hope I can make it.