TOAST TO MY BOAST

I finally on-sighted a route - "Pinky Gotta Brain" (figures) - at the UNL Rec wall tonight. I should have been home packing and preparing for my upcoming trip to Washington D.C. - I should have been doing a lot of things. Instead, I was hanging out at the climbing wall, working on my routes, and trying to rebuild my confidence. In just over an hour I'll be on the road to the Omaha airport, and though it's 3:05 a.m., I'm sitting in front of my computer with a dopey grin on my face. God, I love climbing.

If I'm not doing it, I'm thinking about it. If I'm not thinking about it or doing it, I'm writing about it. If I'm not writing about it, doing it, thinking it, then I'm walking the path to and from work counting the hours until I get to climb again. After sitting it out for two and a half months, I'm willing to try damn near anything on the wall - I feel the transition to 5.8 and 5.9 routes is on my horizon.

This thought is enough to make me giddy. I'd sport wood if I could, but that would require a different sort of harness bought at one of those neon-lit stores hocking silicone fantasies of varying girths. Chicka-chicka-bow-wow.

My suitcase is packed. I've got poems locked and loaded. My presentation materials for my panel at Split This Rock are ready, too. I'm sure I'll love D.C., but I'll be counting the days until I'm climbing again. Expect a post from the road ... I'll be on it, wacked like Kerouac ... movin' toward somethin' man, somethin'.