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Five miles from Newport and already I'd broken my toe. What a shitty way to start my supposedly wonderful journey. I sat on the side of the highway, a mere few feet from the passing transport trucks, not even bothering to try and stop one of them, screaming as loud as I could and cursing with as much variety as I could manage. I think I managed to go about five minutes without repeating a single word. The worst part was when one of those damned trucks did go by, I'd be screaming at the top of my lungs, and then it would get completely drowned out for the amount of time it took for the truck to pass and then it would ease back into the scream. It was very difficult not to burst into laughter at that point. It sort of makes you feel, in a bit of an odd way, that your extreme pain and unbleivable suffering (ha ha...) mean so little that the expression of this pain is lost whenever a truck goes by.
So, I gave up and fell onto my back and laughed for about ten minutes. And then I started to cry, becasue my toes was honestly really hurting. I know now that it wasn't a really big deal, but for a little while there was no deal, no matter how big, that was more important than my wretched little toe. Left foot, by the way, next to the big toe. Mine sticks out a fair bit past the big toe, so it's open to that sort of injury. Man, was I ever tired, though. I hadn't even been out here very long, just a few hours. I felt like such a wimp, tired after only a few hours, screaming and crying over a little broken toe, giving up after the tiniest of mishaps. I was the worst traveller ever. Well, fuck it, I was going to spend this night under the summer stars, listneing to the faint whisper of nature's wind. Not that damned city wind, real, open range-type, wilderness wind. Pretty neat, if you ask me.
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Muthtard?! Don't let'th be thilly. Lemon, now that'th different...
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