Lake Time!

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Epic blogging commence.
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So this past weekend my family, my friend Catherine and I went to the lake.
(I did mention this in my previous basically useless post, but redundancy is one of my many skills.)
Cat spent the night the night before, during which epic adventuring sleepover timez we lay limp, draped over random furniture in my room like tossed rag dolls, watching Doctor Who (arguably the best British program about a time-traveling extra-terrestrial on television) and yet another Ghibli masterpiece, Castle in the Sky.
I loved it.
So much.

I'm legit going to tear up at the memory of its sheer unsurpassed brilliance, so I think that's a post for another time.
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The next day Cat and I squeezed into the backseat along with Wolfie, my German Shepherd who is a perfectly human being thank you and will sit primly in the seat as such, for an hour and a half of blip-blooping DS games, fierce rib-elbowing in the fight to protect the sacredness of the personal bubble, and two-player fruit ninja combat.
Boating was awesome, and tubing especially so. Cat's perpetual face-scrunched, mouth-agape expression of utter horror was hilarious enough, as we bounced and conked heads in unforgiving, bone-bruising harshness, leaning desperately one way or the other in a futile attempt to keep the balance. Many delightedly terrified screams later we wiped out, needless to say, and smacked on the water like skipping stones. We emerged feeling as bruised as fruit in a washing machine, but it was totally worth it.
Then came the jumping rock. Fifteen feet of adrenaline for puny-minded swimmers like ourselves, lurching up into the sky. Challenging us. Mocking us with its immensity.
After several minutes of pacing and undecided facepalming I did manage tap into that puddle of steely nerve of mine, buried deeper than it's almost worth it to expose, and backflipped. I was feeling pretty great about myself, chest all puffed up and smirk in place, until this one guy did some kind of triple-quadruple-backflip-corkscrew-dive thingy without a moment's hesitation.
...
Dang teenagers. They'll do anything as long as it's stupid and risky. (And firmly yanks Elizabeth out of her momentary smugness.)
Later that day Cat and I also decided to go on this cute little nature trail meandering off the main road.
Or should I use its proper moniker, the CrapFest Nature March of Death.
It lead to a dead end, but Catherine was all like, "Ooh, I'm so nature-y and curious like the imp I am, let's see where it goes!". So I'm just plodding along behind her with my frustrated cloud of smoke curling from me and cynical scowl furrowing my whole face.
I was getting cranky, I'll admit.
But then the absurdity of calling the nettle-lined death march of insect bites and dead branches a "nature trail" was enough to make us both laugh hysterically in disbelief.
The meteor shower later that night was stunning. I was in a hazy stupor as I stumbled down to the dock, exhaustion rendering me a blob of weak muscle, but it was definitely worth it to see the streaks of shooting star bleeding through the atmosphere. My mind was admittedly on hiatus most of the time, and only broke back into consciousness after the cries of wonder and delight had gone with the meteors I missed, but even just to watch the night sky all dusted over with pinprick stars was amazing enough.
As we stood to leave we saw the sudden drop in temperature was making mist curl up off the glassy water, like ghosts rising up from the depths. It was beautiful, even to my heavy-lidded eyes.

Kbai, until next time!
~Elizabeth