This is a Strange Planet

But we all knew that already. We're off to go camping tommorow. Camping is a strange thing to do. At least if you also own a home. Why we willingly go off into the forest to set up a new, much smaller home with no real toilet for me to lock myself into for some bloody piece and quiet for a little while, to eat terrible food cooked over a wannabe stove and sleep on six centimeters of yellow foam that calls itself a "bed" I'll never know. Especially where, in the woods, we are looked upon by some species as dinner. And tommorow is supposed to be skin blistering weather. Inside the tin can movable make believe home away from home, there are heat strokes waiting to happen. Right now. Just waiting.

PArents are also strange. I am not strange, and I am a parent, but most other parents are strange. Mine in particular. Once you grow up and realize that they are actually humans as well, with their own thought patterns and ideas, they become even stranger. Like my dad. But, he's mine and I love him. And I probably seem strange to him, though I don't understand how that could be possible. Maybe because he doesn't think normally. But that makes him fun to be around.

PMS is also strange. I think there must be a purpose for it. But I'm afraid too wonder too deeply lest it involve maiming, fire, and possibly a scud missile.

Anyway, a great weekend.