Every once in awhile I wonder if my entire experience working at camp last summer was just one long dream. I mean, there are all these great people milling about that I met at camp, but what if I just knew them all along and dreamed the whole camp thing? I have only a few various knick-nacks from Ihduhapi that I picked up along the way… what if I’m deceived in the origin of these trinkets? What if I actually did some sorta Fight Club switch-over and made all these things in one long summer night, while my body actually sat in a vat of warm goo?
I wonder, I question and I ponder… and then something ultimately comes forward and jars me back to consciousness. Something reminds me that camp is the easiest possible explanation for all the consequences that still linger. Yes, it did happen, and here’s why.
As I was packing up my rain jacket for our spring break trip, I found little spots of puke left over from when I loaned it to one of my campers for a few minutes.