I just finished the final paperwork to get me and Danger Boy off the waitlist and onto the enrollment list for a "Learn to Camp with Mom" overnighter in 2 weeks' time. I'm hopelessly excited.
At the same time, I'm kind of wondering what the hell is wrong with me. I've never been the outdoors type -- in fact, I have never once camped, ever. (We slept in a tent in the backyard once, but that hardly counts.) Most of my childhood, when most kids were out playing with sticks and eating dirt, I sat inside and read books and played video games and drew pictures and generally lived in a bubble of fantasy and escapism.
Now all of a sudden I am taking up running, and going on hikes and nature walks, and gardening, and itching to camp out. And the nonfiction I've been reading lately (for fun) is all about chemicals and elements and biological processes. It's like I just realized that there's a whole world outside my head that I never really noticed before, and it's completely fascinating.
It's not that I'm losing interest in the nerdy indoor stuff that I've always enjoyed, either. I feel like I did when I was nine and decided I was going to read the entire encyclopedia, front to back, because I wanted to know everything. (That didn't last long, by the way. I think I got to "aerospace engineering" before I gave up.) But this time, I don't want to read about things -- I want to try them and see how they feel. It's like I've escaped from a home for scared people and now I'm running wild.
I think skydiving is on the horizon. Currently, I cannot fathom why anyone would want to throw themselves out of a plane, but if this keeps up my curiosity might get the better of me.