The Bucket of Water by Mario Ramirez

I don't even know how I feel. I feel happy to the point where I'm confident enough to try something new and reach out of my comfort zone. The good times are killing me. It is not a good condition. Maybe I compare my happiness to others, and when I see theirs charting off the meter, the jealousy envelops me. That however is the least of my worries. I worry about the paradox. Hiking, sweating, and possibly bleeding your way up the plateau of elation was half the battle. Darling, it's beautiful and picturesque and hell, if my camera had batteries I would photograph every inch of the view for you and your friends. Yet it's running on empty. And now that I've camped and milked the spot for all it's worth, I realize I've got to go downhill. I'm clumsy and awkward and don't trust my perception, hand-eye coordination and every other skill utilized when it comes to focusing. This is the hard part- moving away from what is GOOD. Trees are in my way, and the snakes cry for not treading on them; but if the fauna and flora don't kill me, my silly side-stepping and shortcutting will. Lend me a walking stick; let me know that I'm not too far away from death and shrugging it off would definitely send me off the sheer face of that cliff, or this one, or the next.

Halfway down the path and I've seem to have misplaced my foot inside of a tree root. Fuck. There eye go, a-rollin' down the hill. If you didn't hear the ankle snap in four, or my noggin' whack a rock full force, it might have been a bit comical. Actually no it is lol. I'm laughing at it right now and maybe that should make me sad. Well hey it hurts like a mother fucker, but don't get me wrong- this is a lot faster then any careful, calculated stepping. It happens, but I'm afraid I did not see you on the way down. Fucking Jill, we needed that bucket of water for developing these pictures. Oh well, I'll see you in the afterlife if I don't make it from this plunge.