The tent was flooded, and there was no way to sleep in it. The night was colder than I had hoped for, and the fact that I was essentially tethered to a camera didn't help. So I rode home at 3am with too much on my back, the tripod on my rear shelf, and my sleeping bag wrapped around my arm. I had three jackets on and an orange extension cord curled around my neck. I immediately went to bed on arrival, and slept for... an hour and a half.
Stop motion didn't go for twenty-four hours, it went for closer to nineteen. No one was there, the place was empty as a caboose, even the real campers were leaving for the night. Barren, no doubt about it. And so I left with them.
A man dreams, and his physical body separates from his mental. The mental spirit wanders to the places he sees in his dreams: Paris, London, great rivers and mountain peaks. But they wake him up too quickly, too suddenly, and his spirit has no time to get back. So it's lost momentarily. Depending on how far out it went, the spirit may not return for minutes, hours, days, sometimes weeks.
When I woke up on the couch, I had the sour taste of exhaustion on my lips. It was hard to eat. Chewing took precise control and effort of the jaws. I walked out of the house fully packed except for wallet and keys, and didn't realize until I got to my bike and found myself unable to unlock it. A short walk later, I found myself with no pen or paper for getting names. So I shot groups. There was lots of smoking interspersed.
When I got back I waited outside listening to music on my portable player, and smoked another one. Waited until I heard my roommate's alarm go off, when it did I knocked on the window, got him to open, and collapsed on the couch.
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