One of my Facebook friends asked me if I ever fell down the hill. I camp in the Berkeley hills. And the terrain is fairly steep. And yes, one night, when I was drunk, I slipped and fell down the hill.
I used to stash my cardboard matting behind this tree down near the creek. One night, drunk, as I bent over to get my cardboard I lost my balance and fell face-forward down the hill. Fortunately I was holding my cardboard matting in front of me, so I just sort of body-surfed down the hill.on top of my cardboard, like riding a sled down a hill. Until I crashed into the creek at the bottom (which fortunately was dry at the time).
But then I couldn’t stand up. I was kind of wedged into this tight space in the creek. In this ditch.. And all the rocks and dirt on the bottom of the creek would move every time I tried to stand up so I’d lose my balance and fall back down. Plus it was pitch dark. And I was stuck in a steep incline that I couldn’t climb up out of. Finally, after many failed attempts to pull myself out of the ditch, I just gave up and curled up on my cardboard and slept right there. And rather peacefully (it was a warm night).
Until I got awoken at around 4 AM by my feral cats meowing at me. They were like “What the hell are you doing lying down there at the bottom of the creek, you stupid fucking idiot, when you should be up at your campsite feeding us our dinner??” They’re meowing at me like crazy. Wondering what the fuck I’m doing down there lying at the bottom of the dry creek at 4 in the morning.
By that time I was sober enough to stand up and climb my way out of the ditch. And I made it back to my campsite. And I fed my goddamn feral cats their dinner. And crawled up into my sleeping bag at my campsite and went back to sleep. And lived happily ever after. Until I woke up the next morning with a hangover. The End