The ✨eXpLaNaTiOn✨: Campin’ (Journal- 8/22/2023)

written: 8/18/2023~

finished: today~ :’D

Shhh, no, that was not an unannounced hiatus.

Wassup, peeps! I write this with a throbbing shoulder, an itchy throat, and burning eyes. Why? Because I put this off for a while. Why? Unimportant. Moving on.

OH MY GOODNESS, YOU GUYS. I survived three whole days of social interaction. With HUMANS. How? God’s providence. Let’s give Him a clap offering, y’all.

The event: a high school camping trip. The name’s trippy, considering there were cell phones and Wi-Fi. Also, we didn’t set up our tents and morph into stinky, cranky gorillas who smell like lake water. (“Where else were we supposed to take a bath, huh?!”)

The location was—oops! I almost revealed the specifics of where I live. Haha, nice try! All I’ll say is it was a recreation center with many tops. Spinning tops, not blouses. That’s all you’re getting from me.

Before I forget, let’s get into the details.

🚌 DAY 1- Nervous Feels 🚍

The time: 4:30 a.m.

Butterflies. Butterflies nervously fluttered in my tummy. I’ve been craving social interaction, but getting it was too much. I felt too horrified to go, but I was more terrified of being late. Guess who dragged my patootie out of the house? Good ol’ Mom. (Shoutout to Mom! <3)

After emotionally preparing for this, she would not let me sit this out. Nuh-uh. The payments had been dealt with, the bags were packed the day before, the sister was woken, and the transportation arrangements were made. There was no backing out of this one.

A little over 6 o’clock.

The meet-up: church. I was my awkward self. Half self-conscious, half-unabashed. If you think that balances things out, you are WRONG. There was no balance. None whatsoever.

There were so many PEOPLE, 96.67% of whom my sister knew. It was incredibly overwhelming. I wanted to curl up into a ball. Back at home. Studying. Or sleeping. I was usually sleeping at that hour, would you believe it?

I stood guard over the luggage (we were advised not to bring those, and instead a duffle or a backpack, but oh, well) since no one else seemed to be. Sister dearest was out making arrangements. How shameful. She was busy as a bee while I helplessly stood in the drizzling rain, weirdly leaning on some box donations.

If you couldn’t tell, she was a higher-up. I was a participant.

*whisper* But nepotism. *whisper*

7 o’clock something.

Boarding time.

Don’t die.

Don’t die.

Don’t die. Pretty please.

The other participants came flooding in. I didn’t know what bus I was supposed to be on. I could count the number of buses on my fingers, though. One, two, three, four. That was fun…if I had thought of it. What I did think of was not moving at all and just listening to whatever Mother beckoned. “Breanna, go here.” “Breanna, go there.” “Breanna, listen to your sister.” “Breanna, ask her first.”

I eventually ended up on Bus 1. The first few seconds of peaceful chaos were torture. I sat quietly because that’s what a good girl would do. Then I saw someone.

Someone I recognized.

It was a miracle!

I approached her, and she later told me my “eyes twinkled” as I confirmed her name and invited her to sit with me. Mind you, I hadn’t known her. I had seen her in a Zoom breakout prior in preparation for the camp.

She was most definitely extroverted. Thank the heavens. Within two minutes, we were the loudest pair on the bus that seated forty people or more. (There were not forty people, but it had the capacity for them.)

Five hours or more flew by in a snap. Of course, we were slightly drained by the first and only stopover, but mostly, the conversations did not run dry. In addition to that were bus games held by the other students in authority. I didn’t know them and still don’t, but God might let me in due time.

Arrival—time not logged.

Lunch—the word made my mouth water. Why hadn’t I bought anything at the gas stop? Oh, right. I had money, but I was underage and afraid of misusing it, not unlike the one-talented dude in that one parable of Jesus.

(I bought something by Day 2; don’t worry.)

The fatigue never really went away. There was a Welcoming Program, a Special Program, getting comfy in our rooms with our roommates, and the first of a four-part Bible Program. I was so ready to hit the sack.

A race. Wow. They were holding a race. Imagine the type of figurative fist pump I gave the air. An underwhelming one, that’s what. My underprepared patootie had a camp kit—each kid was given one—but hadn’t anticipated such a swift transition.

It had started. We were doing it. So, all throughout, I lugged a backpack chock-full of half the things I brought to a relatively straining sports event.

It was fun, honestly, and not that bad at all. But I was on the same team as a crazily talkative roommate, and she witnessed my not-so-pleasant side. I was cranky. I was sleep-deprived. I was at fault. I know. I apologized after, but…

Dinner first! My cabin leader engaged in small talk, and I cannot tell her how much I appreciated how she made us feel included. Plus, she had the same name as my sister, which was confuddling.

Our cabin room had an icebreaker game—two truths, one lie. And my, oh my. Thirteen-year-olds sure liked dating. I wasn’t one of them, being unkissed and hardly talking to guys. I made friends with them (though some I vibed with more within the coming days), but that was draining. Goodness, me. Tea. Tea everywhere.

I was ready to hit the sack. So ready. Born ready.

“Congratulations, campers! Next on our list is a one-hour and ten-minute Open Mic night, where we homeschoolers showcase our incredible talent!”

(That’s the time in the flyer, but in reality, it came later and was prolonged.)

Hnnnngh.

Do you know how talented homeschoolers are?

EXTREMELY.

This was going to be a long night.

And you can’t go on saying I was selfish. Half my roomies backed out thirty minutes shy of the end, me included. I hadn’t showered. Is this what being a rogue teen felt like? Sleeping at midnight, partying in the late hours? If so, I wanted nothing of it.

Healthline, my love, er, my most trusted health source, said, not ad verbatim, “Sleeping with wet hair is bery bad.” That advice was thrown out the window coz when my newly washed head slammed on my pillow, I was as good as knocked out.

That’s when I knew I was an introvert. Eh, ambivert. Whatever.

And guess what? There were two more days just like that. No, they were more eventful. And I would have made a separate post about them, but I’m WordPress-ed out; thank you very much.

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Welp.

My cabin mates have been texting their hearts out at 100+ messages/per minute. Is that average speed? I have no clue. I am very uncultured in Gen Z lingo. Fr.