Trails

Today was the first day of the MN gun deer hunt. My face is on fire, both because it is horribly sensitive, and because it was a very windy day on the bluffs. It was sunny. There were deer.
Southeast Minnesota has a four-point restriction regulation. One antler must have four points. I am really bad at seeing this and counting in my adrenaline-pumping state. A buck came, the first I've actually seen ever the woods as I've only been deer hunting for three years now. Anyways, it came and my eyes were too watery and blurred from sleepiness and constant wind. I couldn't tell, so I didn't even raise my gun (regret). My dad, sitting in the tree stand above me (two stands in one tree), took the shot. Then we watched it lope away.
We looked for blood and finally we found some...until we trailed the crimson red splotches to a dead end and a chunk of deer coarse white fur. We decided to let it bed and come back later. Unfortunately, when we met up with my sister at her separate stand down the hill, she informed us that she saw a buck run through (a nice buck). And we saw the trail continue...and continue...onto someone elses land. A dying deer wouldn't run that far.
My dad doesn't think it was a kill wound. We just hope that another hunter gets the buck and stops its suffering. I just wish I wasn't a dope sitting numbly in a tree stand, watching a wounded deer run away when I could have shot it (my dad has a muzzle-loader, so it takes civil war finesse and time to reload). May tomorrow bring faster reflexes, better eye-sight, less wind, and early morning vigor-perhaps also a fancier blog post!

Ugly cakey fake face

My ugly face feels like it was dipped in syrup. Yes, thats the kind of day it is, the wake up and know all you can do is cake an inch of heavy and obvious makeup in an attempt to cover the acne that comes with stress, shitty food, producty-hair all up in the face, and the constant tired face-rubbing. I raise my eyebrows up and down, up and down, and its slow, thick, nasty-uncomfortable. I left campus today to hide out in my room, wasting gas but saving face, only appearing before sunlight by necessity. I'm tempted to throw on my hunting mask early, walk around like a creep, feeling prettier, and actually quite warm. Blech. I'll do my eyes ridiculous, that way, people will be like dang whats with that girls eye makeup instead of dang why is her face a shade darker, cakey, and failing at concealing the red blotches. For some reason that seems better: getting called out on being dramatic, versus trying to hide.

I am a tame cow.

Lifting that shovel, I realized something was wrong. I scraped metal against the metal of the wheel barrow, repetitively lifting soil and transporting it to the compost, slowly adding a layer to encourage the lovely long process. My arm muscles slowly started to burn, and instead of enjoying it, I tried to recall the last time they did that- worked hard. I imagined and predicted the coming hunting trip, stepping over fallen logs, ducking under branches, crouching, standing, squats, pushups, hiking. I may die. I’ve become a walking breadstick dipped in ranch. I’ve become a girl whose workout comes from a once-a-week garden hobby. I’ve become heavier, both in the hips, and in the mind, and I realize that right now I choose booze, food, and laziness over a finesse that could survive in the wild. I am a tame cow.