Wednesday. A time I hate because I can never decide when we passed the beginning and dove into the end of the week. And there’s never enough coffee on a Wednesday, you ever notice that? Anyways, I woke up to a message saying that my blogs were the highlight of someone’s day – so I figured I’d give a shout out to that person because hearing that made my day.
Back to the strange and unusual –
While driving today I took note of some of the parks around town for the first time. More specifically their names: Bottomless Pitt State Park and Bitter Animals Wildlife Refuge. Who names these places? I would never think they’d be a good place to vacation or perhaps for father-daughter time:
As a kid my dad took me to the animal refuge a few times a year. It became a family tradition of sorts. We would look for tracks to follow, practice bird calls that attracted creatures that haunted (and still make appearances in) my nightmares. We’d look for animal dens, and then play a game where my dad would run in and tell me to “take pictures, no matter what happens to daddy, no matter how loud I scream, take the picture, honey.” Then my dad would sit me out in the middle of an open space with sandwich meat and hide behind a rock doing various Bigfoot calls
Guardian Angels have to be real. It’s the only explanation as to how I managed to make it past the age of twelve.
Anyways, yesterday and this morning I paid attention to my surroundings. A trick us natural investigative reporters can do. The signs heading out of Logansville indicated a few miles to my destination, but it took over two hours. I kept thinking I was lost. Then I thought I was crazy because the odometer never changed. Then I went back to thinking I was lost. When I saw something in the sky and my radio cut out for no reason I went back to the crazy train and fully expected Mr. Browne to show up in a shiny new U.F.O.
When I arrived in…I can’t say where because I am pretty sure I’m onto something huge. I did my reporter-in-training thing and acquired the information I needed. But now I feel the need to investigate this place. Admittedly, part of the reason is when I mentioned I was from Logansville people had one of two reactions. 1 – Politely nod and walk away fast (the most common) 2 – Interrogate me. Endless questions about what we were hiding, what lived in our parks, why no one was allowed to move there unless they knew someone, or what the heck happened on our hiking trails? (Personally, I have a lot of the same questions.)
There were more but I am keeping those to myself. I have a lot to learn and the answers are in the archives of the Ledger…I just need Mission Impossible myself past that damn door.
I need to get back to my story – it’s more serious than I thought.
*And whoever is calling me, quit it!
*And I know you’re following me psychiatrist guy, knock it off!