I seriously thought about ending this entry right there. Pretty much anything else I have to say today will probably just be a variation on that theme.

No no no. I will make the effort to talk about something else. I just want you to be aware. I'm sick. It sucks. Ooog. That's all I'm sayin'.

Arthur came down last night. He showed up just as I was finishing up yesterday's entry, which explains the kind of abrupt ending. We talked for a while, then I told him I would find him after work. I eventually found him at Tau. Almost immediately, he said he wanted to go for a walk. I was already beginning to feel The Mutant Cold From Hell kicking in, and outside really didn't seem like the best thing to do to myself at that time. But then I realized my alternative was sitting in Tau reading the Onion book. (Strangely, there were people in the lounge, but they were all couples cuddling on various and sundry couches. They were in the middle of a movie. It didn't seem like a good time to say "I require amusement! Me, me, me!") So, Arthur and I went for a walk.

He wanted to go visit Worm Hill. Behind the president's house is this huge frigging hill. For maybe 20 years, it's been a Tau tradition to wander up there drunk, and stare at the stars, and then drink more, until you reach the point where you're telling everyone exactly what the stars mean to you. It's called Worming, because the point of the exercise is to feel insignificant and generally wormlike.

So, we set out. Arthur was going the wrong way. "No, man. It's all crazy now. There's a real path." "Aren't we going to walk up the president's driveway?" That got me thinking. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Back in the day, you started out at the far edge of Rodman's parking lot. Then, you trekked cross country for a bit, until you found the president's driveway. You followed it almost to his front door, being as stealthy as your personal inebriation level would allow, then set off into the wilderness again. If it was late in the year, you might eventually find a path beaten in by previous Worms, or you might slog it out on your own all the way to level ground somewhere near the top. I'm pretty sure it sucked, but for just a minute, I found myself wishing we had decided to ignore the newfangled path, and done it the real way. But then I remembered. The path is so much easier.

So, we took the path. The path is so very bizarre. Apparently, about three years ago, they made a gravel-lined path through land otherwise being left completely alone. They want it to turn it back into a prairie, or something. It's probably very scenic during the day, if you're into that sort of thing. Or maybe it really is just a convenient way for Taus to get to where they're going without ending up wandering around the president's lawn at four in the morning.

The highlight of the path is the Outdoor Classroom about 3/4ths of the way to what Taus used to consider the top. Again, you can call it that if you want to. I will forever maintain that this "Outdoor Classroom" was specifically designed with Worms in mind. There are many benches. Benches, fer chrissakes! No more sitting on the (usually wet) grass! There are stars directly above, and a nice line of trees directly in front to block the wind. If you must commune with nature, you couldn't ask for a more convenient spot. If it had a bar, I'd probably live there.

I told Arthur that we could go the last 100 yards or so through the Great Unknown, to get to the real Worm spot. We looked, and saw that the first 10 yards were at about a 85 degree incline. We chose to stay on the benches.

I remembered that I had a little pot with me. I told Arthur that it just didn't feel right, being sober on Worm Hill. I had no pipe, though. (Jay, Aimee, Jaime and I once built an entire Worm epic around the same problem. After many false starts ("We could break one of the beer bottles, and then--" "No. Nothing good comes from broken beer bottles." "Whose backpack is this, anyway? Can we take it apart?" "It's Dave's backpack. He might get mad.") we ended up constructing a steamroller-like thing out of part of the beer case. We went back to the house, and told everyone "We rock! MacGuyver comes to us for advice!" Every single one of them, even the non-stoners, said, "Uh, why didn't you just knock the tobacco out of a cigarette? Freaks.") Arthur immediately suggested taking the tobacco out of one of my cigarettes. I did so.

It was dark, and most of what I had was shake. It took a long time, but I suppose it was easier in the long run than trying to build something from scratch.

I offered some to Arthur. He of course still works at the casino, and is thus still subject to random drug tests. He took the joint, though. Good for him. I don't think I know anyone else who I would rather offer it to. "Dude, your life is really fucked up. Take this. No, take it. We'll both feel a lot better afterwards."

We stayed up there for maybe an hour altogether, then we walked back. I didn't think I actually got anything, but then I found myself in a long convoluted thought about shrinking my couch down to maybe 1/20th of its current size, so I could just throw it away, and then I'd buy a green couch, that like, looked like it was made out of pillows sewn together. Yeah, that would be pretty sweet. "Wow," I thought. "Either I'm stoned, or I'm feverish and delusional. You know, though, either way is OK by me." I hope Arthur got something. He really deserved it.

***

It occurs to me, looking back, that this isn't particularly well written at all. It goes all over the place. I happen to know I'm not stoned, so I guess I really am sick. Feh. Maybe I'll make sense tomorrow.

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