Hello. A picture speaks a thousand words. Here’s what my past two weeks have been like:


That, mixed with intermittent free solo circuits at mission gorge, slack lining sessions at Morley Field, and I tried to go bodysurfing the other day, but by the time the heat was done with me my head felt like it was going to pound out of my skull. My first day back I took a rest day, and this is what it looked like:


I thought all was well, so it was the only rest day I took upon my return, and I was prepared to tackle a heinous workathon to save up for one last big trip before my final semester of college. The first ten days were fine. I was psyched and desperate to make cash fast, but then the hideous heat moved in with the 60% humidity.

At some point I got lined up on this full barn remodel. We demo’d the whole thing, and got all the materials, and everything was off to a good start. Meanwhile I am contracting several concrete jobs, and a big landscaping construction job. I started to compartmentalize my life through deadlines and schedules–again–and there is nothing wrong with that, and in fact I operate well under these conditions.

Where the problem lies is that I stack my life with priorities like a house of cards in such a way that when something goes wrong it threatens the balancing act. But I charge ahead steadfast and never heed these warnings.

To solve my problem of being overburdened with work, my best friend and work partner both agreed to work through the weekend in two long days, something like 24-30 hours in two days and hammer this entire barn out. However, on Saturday morning my friend Was over three hours late. The house of cards began to shake, and soon I could feel the steering wheel shake as I sped down the road to meet the home owners at Home Depot in his place.

Thirty minutes after he showed up he blew up on me jumping up and down, throwing plywood cuts, and acting aggressive like he’s going to fight me. A new variable–another card balanced on my paper thin house.

The next day he was an hour an a half late, and left three hours early. I made up for it by working extended hours. After work I sped to the crag for a thirteen pitch free solo circuit–it’s the only thing that kept me sane.

Monday and Tuesday I was committed to another job. A much needed reprieve from the tension between us. I woke up psyched and went to the kitchen feeling like I needed another night of sleep to stack on the previous one, made my coffee and grabbed a Soylent for breakfast. The bottle of Soylent was covered in watery rat shit, and then my hand was covered in watery rat shit. The house of cards began to reverberate from within. I decided to opt out of coffee and self-made breakfast and instead buy pop tarts, and energy drinks from that point forward.

95 degree temps with 60% humidity swept into San Diego, and my car filled with stacks of leftover Jack N the Box bags and empty energy drink cans and torn snickers wrappers.

Wednesday I was hopeful. We were going to hammer this thing out, and finishing that day was a realistic goal! He arrived two hours late and left two hours early. I worked twelve hours in the sticky heat to make up.

Thursday I was determined to finish, and ate a burrito and drank a Monster before endeavoring on a twelve hour straight mission with no breaks. By the first hour I was wringing out my shirt, but I finished what needed to be done.

Concrete pour done. Landscape contract satisfied. Barn finished except for the second half of the roof he’s pledged to do Friday. Another building scheduled to construct on Friday, car maintenance on Saturday. Meeting for a multi-year landscape contract and roof bid Sunday. I just have to survive until Monday.

Friday I showed up to finish my last big job and the contractor I do the work for’s back was out. I took his truck and did the landscape maintenance route, job postponed, and tried to find a place to fit a return into my schedule before I leave Monday. The foundation of my house of card will not support the addition. Sorry man…

The last three days my hands have been too swollen to climb. And tonight–I don’t know why–but I’m sitting here writing sleepless at 4:23 AM. I’m not complaining, I promise, I’m documenting. Welcome to the mundane. People ask me sometimes how I can bare to go weeks without a shower, or live weeks in a car. The above description is far more unbearable than dirtbagging for months in the deserts and mountains. Everyday this week I’ve dreamt of Lander–running around in the Winds.

The expectations and projections about how this run would go were completely inaccurate. The only thing that went better than planned was the amount of money I made. I feel like I’m down a best friend. After the names he called me and the hostility he had towards me on Saturday I just don’t really know how to move forward.

I think I’ll just leave for a while and go on another big climbing trip and rediscover what matters most. This mundane shit is too fucking dramatic.

Be well. I’ve got to go find my happy place.

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