Bears and Scares

When I was little I ran away out of spite. To a spot under the unseen side of an oak tree if you were looking at it from my parents house directly across the street. Since then, I understood I was simply a dreamer and John Lennon gently explained I was not the only one. Honestly, I never knew being a dreamer was something to justify by recognizing the actions of others. I just assumed that justification tactic was specifically invented for embarrassing drinking habits but the phrase comes in handy to safely assume most of you have day dreamt about your favorite celebrity.
Dreaming is generous in that we get to re-wind each scene, with everything and anything fair game so long as our imaginations let it, until everything we say and do come together perfectly to gain the protection under our favorite celebrities wing (we are talking celeb buddies here, whatever you do with your celeb crush– you just do you). It’s a delicate balancing act of ‘playing it cool.’ We need to convey that we are cool and desirable enough to be their buddy without exploiting the celeb-chasing fan girl that we un-admittedly are. Of course, these are all just dreams, but it helps me explain the fear taking up roughly 65% of my mind heading into this river trip.

Simply switch ‘playing it cool’ to ‘playing it dead.’ Also, instead of celebrities as intended relations…I want bears.

I need to practice my ‘playing it dead’ technique. It’s actually quite hard to practice in dreams because dreams are supposed to be emporiums for random, remarkable crap and if I don’t want to die of boredom by playing dead in a daydream I’d need to make the playing dead me daydream in my daydream. And all that work defeats the purpose of the lazy activity that day dreaming is anyway.
I bet you all assume I need to learn to play dead in order to save my ass in case I encounter a bear. True. But saving my ass simply isn’t good enough. There is too much opportunity beyond surviving. If the bear believes I’m dead he will leave me and my hollywood worthy acting alone. But I can’t have the bear thinking I’m alive, therefore a threat, and kill me. I need to play the perfect amount of dead where the bear feels bad and thinks I’m darling and helpless and wants to lead me back to her den full of cubs. The delicate balancing act. Gorillas in zoos caring for fallen toddlers really set a high standard for the rest of the animal kingdom. Do you understand?
My biggest fear is not bears killing me. It’s that I truly think I have a chance to live a life of eating plants and fish, gettin’ good skin…I assume, and then climbing a couple trees, the bear necessities (had to be done). I’m scared if I don’t learn this ‘playing it dead’ technique quickly, or worse, screw it up in the clutch, then I’ll waste my predictably one chance of my ‘Tarzan with a twist’ life panning out. Just imagine the babe that will boat his way up river to me. Great ending.

I guess, if I fail, I’ll finish what I started and head down to New Orleans where both my favorite celebrities (Brad Pitt and Ellen Degeneres) have roots and I can try my hand at ‘playing it cool’ and not dead. Which, by the way, I was thinking if you think I’m weird for trying to be accepted by bears then keep in mind who my favorite celebs are…very mainstream. I’m questionable but I’m not the only one.


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