The Rock, the Hill, and the Quarry

Yesterday, I came home after spending three weeks at Camp Woodward.  Immediately got back in the car and went to New York to chill with some friends for the evening.  I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed tonight.

I was going to write a few Woodward-themed paragraphs that resemble the previous post’s brief outline of my trip to Israel.  Upon starting the task, I opted to instead write this commentary.  Then I contemplated talking about the meta-language involved here.  After that, I started narrating this sentence and began to ponder the recursive nature of everything…

Before I lose focus, let me just list a few things that happened in the center of Pennsylvania:

• A kid shit in the shower (didn’t find the culprit, even after interrogations)
• Got to know a professional skateboarder’s kids
• Punched fire
• Lost a camper in the middle of the night
• Conversed with two drunken Amish teenagers
• Learned pole-jam back 180s

Then I realized that I didn’t explain that I didn’t want to write out a whole summary of the trip because memories are more malleable when they are left to the imagination.  So I did.