Camp

Trying to concentrate, to listen. In another world. Being involved, participating. Asking questions, reaching out, asking for advice. For support. Give and take. Sharing of myself with strangers. Things I don't normally do. For an hour. Being someone I usually am not. For the greater good. For the children. For the directors. For camp.

Of course, it's easier to do all those things by phone, on a conference call where no one can see you and no one knows you.

And then it all comes crashing down. Back to reality. Take your laundry out of the dryer. They don't understand. They don't understand because they don't work in a camp. They don't know what I do or what I go through or the responsibility I am afraid of or how nervous I get or the preparations I dread or the fear of failure. They don't know any of that. So they demand I get off the phone and take my clothes out of the dryer.

There can't be any crossover. No straddling the line. Either you are all there, or not at all. I choose to be there. I want to be there. I don't want to be here. So I will try and remain in that bubble. That euphoria of having a support group. People who understand you, relate to you and have similar fears. People who don't make you take your clothes out of the dryer.

I wasn't looking forward to camp, but now it can't come fast enough.