*In my efforts to become a better writer, I've reviewed some critiques and found that I'm over explaining to my badass readers. Apparently, I don't need to explain what hooking-up is because you are all big sluts and already know. Please see my essay In Defense of Dating if you don't know what hooking up is, prude. You all probably know what scrambling is too, because you're badasses, but I didn't, so here's a definition:
Scrabbling: climbing on rocks or boulders, but not straight up requiring a harness. Just climbing up the rocks like a crab, or nimble mountain goat on two legs. Or, as dictionary.com says, "a quick climb or progression over rough, irregular ground." Dang it! How do I get this font back to normal? This is not going well. better. Normal? Ok, I give up.
As i climbed carefully over rocks, testing for stability, my fearless leader, Shaun, bounded up the damn things. A rock would slip from under his foot he would surfer balance, find his center, and leap to the next one. Waiting for me to catch-up, he would even ride a big flat rock down the loose rocks, as if he were Fred Flinstone's country cousin, and a woolly mammoth was chasing him down the mountain. bonus detail: Shaun is very southern. On an especially slide-prone section of smaller rocks, I looked down, and realized, if I fell, I could really hurt myself. I could, in an unlikely chance, die. My body froze with fear. Shaun yelped as the rocks gave way under him. My heart stopped. Shaun laughed, got up, and kept on surfing down the mountain. He just made it look so fun that stopping climbing was not an option.
When things stop growing, they start to decay. Biological truth. Playing it safe on the couch will kill you too and it won't be nearly as fun. And you'll get fat. And your brain will go numb. and people will think you are a big loser. And you will forget how to laugh. That's what I had to tell myself to get up the damn mountain. I did. It was incredible.
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