chiefin' ain't easy

20 weeks.

Choosing something to write about once a week is really the only tough thing about my time off of work. On a weekly basis, the only other hard decision I have to make is whether to travel or relax at the time-off house. And honestly, it's never hard to decide to hop in Blanca and roll.

When it comes to writing, though, there are a handful of goals I aim to meet. I want to be able to process the past week. I want to be able to share my experiences with the people I love the most. I want to be able to look back on my week with a positive and fresh perspective, so I can tackle the coming week. I want to be able to laugh and make you laugh a little. I want to be vulnerable and honest.

So...my dear readers. Where to begin?

I could start with a recap of the week. I could tell you about the mini-riot my boys had on Sunday. I could tell you how many times my life was threatened. I could tell you how many times I heard a boy fart, curse, burp, how many times I asked someone to pull their pants up. I could tell you about the conversations I had about God and life and love. I could tell you about the inappropriate conversations I tried to stop by talking about my favorite cereal or what types of clouds were in the sky.

I could then divert to the way I'm feeling about my pending transfer to Georgia. I could tell you how torn I feel. Torn between fulfilling a commitment to this camp and to the kids whom I've given my heart and fulfilling a need to be where I want to be, doing what I want to do, and feeling good about myself, the program I work for, and the kids I work with. I could write about the differences between the two camps, the similarities, the reasons why I want to go, the reasons why I think I shouldn't, the reasons why I think I should. I could write about my frustrations, my sadness, my hope for a better experience, my disappointment in my current situation, my inability to make a decision.

For some reason, though, I feel the need to talk about love. I hesitate to do this--given the medium on which I write, but this is how the big whigs get their book deals, right? Maybe if I add a little spice to the writing, I'll get my ticket to fame. Ahh. I kid. I kid. But here goes anyways--maybe it'll help.

Using a term from my training buddies, "Chiefin' ain't easy." I feel that I've already illustrated to you that being a chief in the woods is one of the toughest things I will probably ever do in my life. This job is quite literally a sacrifice of all things normal in your life. I work 5 days a week, 24 hours a day. Do the math. That's 120 hours of my life each week in the woods with teenage boys.

120 hours!

That leaves me 48 hours to do laundry, peel the woods off of me, turn back into a female, and do something that makes me feel refreshed, energized, normal, loved, and part of something great. Usually that involves going to the beach, to the city, to a new place, eating good food, shopping, watching movies, hiking, swimming, lounging, vegging, drinking, goofing around. All good memories, right? What it doesn't involve? Love.

Now, I've never been much of a relationship girl. I've been in 2 real relationships in my lifetime. It's just never been a big focus of mine. I've dated here and there, but it's never been enough of a priority to compromise the life I wanted to live for the love I wanted to have. Even now, it's not enough of a priority to compromise this adventure, and at this point, with this path I've chosen, it's practically impossible to imagine being in a relationship. At the end of my shift, I have nothing left to give anyone and even if I did, I don't have the proper amount of time to invest in someone.

But man...after 5 days of no physical affection. Scratch that. After 5 days of physical aggression, constant verbal abuse, miles of walking, hours of feeling ugly and dirty, I wish I had someone around who could take my hand, tell me I'm beautiful, put his arm around me, kiss my forehead and just be with me. There. I said it.

....now where's that book deal?