The Bulgarian Bonfire Soirees

Eastern Europeans. Every time I forget my woes and start seeing life for its very few charms, it's in the presence of foreigners (or, in the case of Quebec, people foreign to me). Here in Alaska, young Eastern Europeans are brought in for the hospitality and tourism industry. They're cheap labor to the local proprietors and the kids get to come to America to suss out whatever it is Eastern Bloc-ers come to America to suss out. It's a win-win.

The season is winding down faster than a rig going 65 MPH is incapacitated by a moose on paved permafrost. And the RV park the clowns I work for put us in has closed for the season. The RV park's Eastern Europeans throw a party of sorts every night now. They light a camp fire and play bad techno/electronica/dance music. They've invited us Jeep boys to drink cheap beer with them and hang out around the fire. They burn anything they can get their hands on. I never knew Budweiser cans burn so well.

So at night, we hang out under the moon drinking the cheap stuff and chatting absolute nonsense. And I couldn't be having more fun. I hope they're out tonight, though Maria is on a flight to LA or Vegas or NYC and the rest of the Moldovans, Macedonians, Bulgarians and Russians are about to fly the coup too. Any day, as a matter of fact. Our group is bound to dry up quickly. And when it does it's back to the blanket feelings of underwhelmed-with-being. Bang! I fucking love moose, mountains and fire. I'll miss the the heck out of this place. But I gotta split!!

From bad to September

Feeling low. Low. The sun went from setting at 10:45pm to setting at 8:30pm. Northern lights were out again last night. They sucked. Today, 09/09/09, my rideshares headed south decided to nix the whole thing. Now I have to bear the burden of driving 5 thousand miles and paying for 5 thousand miles worth of fuel.

And I keep seeing moose splattered all over the place. I saw a massive rig with a dent the size of my extended family in it. And a blood splatter bigger than a Ford F-150. The last thing to go through the mind of the moose it hit? Its own asshole. Hanging out in the middle of the Parks Highway at whatever hour that happened, maybe its own asshole was the ONLY thing to ever go through that moose's mind.

I'm very excited to be leaving this place in under 2 weeks. But I'm still sitting with the unnerving feeling that I'm not going to be very happy anywhere else. Sometimes. Well, I think that I'm bigger than this brain. This body. This life. What kills me is the wants. I want to eat every day. Hunger is a pesky little habit. I want stuff. Maybe even a woman friend. Vey. Purple tennis shoes. A winning lottery ticket. A road bike with flat handle bars. A skill. A New York strip steak. A happiness maybe very few people know. Lucky kid that I am. To want to be happier and not healthier, or safer, or cleaner, or less closer to death. Lucky to be unhappy.

So I'm rolling down the Stampede trail and come to a calf moose trot right by me. Then the mama moose saunters in front of my Jeep. So I sit. And throw the Jeep in park and watch. I didn't do much thinking. I just watched. I suppose if I did think I would have wondered that I can't watch this sort of thing in Brooklyn. Or that I'm on the clock is this is helping me pay the bills. Or that this is the exact reason I came to Alaska for 6 weeks. Or how I'd be writing about my thoughts in another day or two. Writing about her and her calf. Writing about how each one of her mouthfuls of tree leaves equates to about 5 or 6 large salads at any deli anywhere. And then I actually did have a thought. I threw the Jeep into drive and motioned onward. But she squared me up. And I thought either she's not going anywhere. Or that I'm disturbing her meal. I put the Jeep back into park and hung out a while longer. Microcosm for my life? At almost 30, did I just throw it back into park? Am I idling on my trail?

What about you and your trail?

Thoughts on future sadness

Yo! This summer has greeted me with the happiest of happies I've ever experienced. It started fresh in Montreal, had me driving forever to Tennessee to experience Bonnaroo, mega huge parties way back in Quebec, meeting maybe a hundred new friends all over the place, learning to repair bikes at McGill U., seeing tons of bands play live, and driving across the continent to Alaska. All the while I never missed Brooklyn, though seeing that bands would be playing live in Brooklyn made me appreciate the access to ALL New York City has afforded me. If I ever actually live there again, I won't take it for granted.

But I'm almost 30 and my brain is fucking fucked. The thoughts that swirl in my head just won't let me live in the moment and appreciate not being 30 and being in Alaska for no other reason than because I can't work above ground in Montreal.

But that doesn't help. I have these bad feelings that I won't be happy after this. That no matter where I go, after this summer, will pale in comparison to this one hoorah. Ouch. It's soooooo real to me. Going back to Brooklyn would almost feel claustrophobic. Going to Montreal would certainly mean working under-the-table, menial tasks and living hand-to-mouth. And staying in Alaska would offer some promise, but tons of misery and a cost-of-living that I'm certainly unprepared for.

How do I balance my chronic spells of depression with; new, exciting and healthy experiences that stimulate and keep me reasonably happy; AND find a way of making a living that doesn't have me continually thinking of seeking out a new way to earn an existence? Doesn't seem possible. It's the sort of way-leads-onto-way that forks me over and over again.

I keep melting.

Someone teach me French, a skill that stimulates me to no end, and write me up a work visa. Or motivate me to act and not think. Or better yet, distract me.

But no one wants to read this bullshit. So I'll have you know that last night I saw the lankiest cat ever bound its way across the George Parks highway. Turns out it was a lynx. And I finally saw Dall sheep hanging out. And the ptarmigans' feathers and arctic snowshoe hares' fur are changing color! There are a couple hares that visited me at cook's camp today. Cutest things ever.