S ome days it's just a series of little things that pile up: your hair looks like it was styled by badgers, you conk your head, you get a skirt-wedgie because you wore a t-back instead of fullback skivvies. By the third or fourth thing, you're feelin' pissy. Taken individually, the events aren't all that dramatic; it's the constancy of the shit, not the consistency that puts you in a funk.

Other days, one genuinely bad thing will go down -- something with real texture and flavor that sticks with you, a cosmically bad gumbo of sorts -- paving a path for other gut punches. This is the headspace I've been lingering in for a few weeks, and I know some of it boils down to a skewed perspective, and some of it is genuine, but all of it feels a little sucky at the moment. It'll change, and I'm thankful I've finally measured this truth, but in the meantime there's the tricky task of staying present and open and not crazy.

jeanine fritz

You've heard of "fight or flight," the response choices we have when faced with some flavor of trouble. I tend to be a fighter, which sometimes means I'm left wishing I'd figured out I was fighting a problem out of my weight class before ending up in traction. That doesn't mean flight is never an option; there's something deeply tempting about running from heartache, confusion and frustration. Since I seem to have that in spades at the moment and nobody to punch, the thought of heading for the hills and being marked "absent" for every class sounds mighty fine. And there's no reason not to have a little fun with it, so I've been thinking about one of the biggest names in being unavailable: Bigfoot.


He's got it good wandering the northwest mountains, unassailed by a lot of the stuff the rest of us struggle with: modern communication, jobs, breakups, funerals, roommate drama, broken washers at the Laundromat -- outside of that whole "constantly hunted therefore never able to rest" problem that I'm working hard to ignore at the moment. I've been making pro/con lists in my head the past few weeks to determine who's got it better: Bigfoot or me.

Here's what I came up with so far:

Being Me.

Pros: Have truck perfect for driving over things I shouldn't when nobody's looking; tiny apartment with adorably-sized appliances, plus fireplace and delightfully hot shower; fast typist; not consistently blurry in photographs.

Cons: Apartment and truck require jobs; expected to wash five key areas and comb hair daily before going out in public; household chores; desire to be Bigfoot beginning to concern loved ones.

Being Bigfoot.

Pros: No shirt, no shoes, no problem; washing five key areas with lavender soap would cause a host of problems, so no showering; epic, epic beard; hair actually styled by badgers; no phone calls. Ever.

Cons: No NPR; no four-wheeling over curbs in the softball parking lot; few invitations to parties; unflattering photos show up everywhere with no power to untag self; no beer, unless left by campers. (And then probably Heineken.); constantly hunted, therefore never able to rest.

Based on this list, it's probably best I remain not-Bigfoot for the time being, but a trip to the northwest filled with silence is probably called for. Maybe he and I can bro down for a little while. If you're reading this buddy, I'll be sure to bring some good beer.