I woke up about ten minutes ago and am now having my morning coffee. I have learnt to drink it sans milk. An acquired taste brought on by necessity. I do not have a fridge.
My sister is coming over later. I think my mum told her about my imminent breakdown. I need to go to town and get some stuff before she gets here though. I also think I should change my diet as at the moment it consists of coffee, hotdogs and spaghetti, which is probably not doing me any favors.
Its now twelve(ish) and all the coffee I had for breakfast took effect at the worst possible time. I decided that enough was enough and spurred on by caffeine and creativeness I decided that I would go for a run and take photos maybe make a short video that sort of thing.
Long story short I ran too far and needed a shit right at the apex of my run. Right when I was the furthest I could possibly be from the flat. I sped up thinking maybe it would recede and I could hold on until I got back. This worked for about five minutes until I got the feeling that I was going to shit. Like. Right. Now.
Now I don’t know if you are a serious camper or if you have ever been stuck outside when you really, really need a shit but I can tell you its unpleasant. We have been conditioned to only really shit indoors. Theres just something so undignified about that unplanned shit, squatting amongst the trees, digging around in your pockets trying to find something to wipe with, in my case receipts, unadvised. Theres then the slightly dirty feeling which, when you think about it is odd because what you’ve done is natural perhaps more natural because you’re taking it back to nature.
I learnt to shit in the woods in France. It was during that strange time in my life that I tried to hike across the whole country. I was prepared for it that time. I had a trowel with which to dig a pit and some bio-degradable toilet paper. Seeing as my diet then was perhaps worse then it is now (I was mainlining weight-loss pills and M&Ms) I would only have a few minutes to, literally, sort my shit out. My thought process went something like this.
Shit I gotta Shit
Where to go, where to go.
Am I far enough into the woods.
Can anyone see me?
How deep do I need to dig?
Fuck this is awkward.
It was while squatting in the woods in the drizzle off the side of some desolate road in France that it hit me. “Just what in the fuck am I doing here.” I mean I was trying to walk to Italy solo. It got me to wondering; if you’re going crazy can you tell? Is it a gradual transformation or do you just wake up one morning and start shitting in the woods?
I don’t know how far I walked in the rain that day. When I stopped for the night though I was on a road that led south and I had a new plan. It was to get south as fast as possible. In my mind south = warmth.
Shit in the woods, but don’t make a habit of it.