Tuesday. One of my only two days of the week off from work, and I certainly did not plan to squander it. While some would consider immersing oneself in the ever expanding world of literature and exploring the most remote places one can find to be squandering a perfectly picturesque day, I, for one, begged to differ. Following graduation, such had become my habit.
So, here I was again today, parking my rundown SUV at the forest's outskirts.
I crawled over the car's console to slip into the back, which sported several worn boxes of books, along with clothes, a cooler, stuffed animals, a blanket and several stray electronics between the car's folded back seats and trunk. Not the most luxurious of living conditions, but most anything was better than living with those godforsaken, mentally abusive lovebirds.
The Interpretation of Dreams-- That was the first book that graced my fingers from the "unread" pile I carefully maintained. It wouldn't do anyone any good to sort through all these dusty old things a second time. I nestled the book in my messenger bag before I crawled out the car's trunk, firmly closing the heavy thing and locking my vehicle on the way out.
Not like I have much to steal either way, I mused as I made my way into the forest, taking each navigational challenge the forest provided me one at a time.