frazzled tender_square my sweater is mysteriously damp after bringing in groceries but i can't quite tell what the culprit is. the bottled water? the apple cider vinegar? the raspberries now leaving a bloody pink trail on the fridge shelf? it's odorless and colourless. must be water. i place six bottles in the freezer to lay a base in tomorrow's cooler. i inventory the essentials, likely making this first solo sojourn a lot more complicated than it needs to be. friends suggested "easy" cooking by fire; still, these small acts require utensils and accoutrements for washing. i have a teal vinyl tablecloth fit for six, when it's unlikely i'll even eat at the picnic table; i'm sure i'll be inhaling from my camping chair fireside. the sink is full of days old dishes. i haven't food prepped the sandwiches, the snacks. what books will i bring? time, the avenger, has left me without a practice run of my new tent. "you're brave," my coworkers say. "you're still going ahead with it?" my mother asks. will i tire of being outdoors? will i be too cold at night? what if i get scared of the enveloping darkness, blinded from staring into the dazzling flash of fire. 230907 what's it to you? who go blather from