OCD guide to camping

photomania-3b24c945e3b2892a2e19aa689bd25236I’m stuck between two camps as it were:
People who think camping is magic and people who think it sucks.

Why it sucks

Why #1  Nature needs a bath

Dirt everywhere!

I’m a little OCD (and when an OCD person says they’re a little OCD, multiply that by a factor of five). Seriously though, mine isn’t scrubbing hands raw or dancing a jig after locking the door, though I do gag myself with a toothbrush every morning while scrubbing my tongue. Stick it out and look sometime. The thing is weird, gross, unsanitary and every time Miley Cyrus sticks hers out I want to cut it off with garden sheers.

No, my OCD isn’t all that life-altering – not depriving me of slothy fun like leaving the dishes unwashed for a few days. Mine is the minimalist variety, making me difficult to live, camp and decorate with (ask my ex).

The opposite of a hoarder, I just hate having lots of stuff. If something isn’t nostalgic, aesthetically pleasing or useful, it’s gone. Philosophically, minimalism aligns with my belief that our world is in chaos, at least in part, because things are being loved and people are being used.  The dark side of consumerism: Full closets, empty hearts.

So clean counters calm me. Artless walls please. Clutter make me crazier than a soup sandwich.

With the knowledge that after a couple nights at camp, I’m dirty, tired and sleep-deprived, after three consecutive days of watching the Republic National Convention in bemused horror, I was primed for a break from the burning garbage heap of reality. Neatly situated around a four-day weekend, I set out to be nanook of the woods, make fires, rest, renew and get the heebie-jeebies.

Why #2  Nature hates you

My campsite along the Green River with my own semi-private sandy beach:
photomania-3c30b8fb03959e39a94a53e62f302b3913719466_10209898213842238_1394469255678977376_ophotomania-d9e82b673fc324a7791643356733dd98THIS

Thing of beauty, eh? It was BUT what the carefully applied photo filters don’t show is the skeeter-swatting, ant-flicking, tumbling over tent stakes after sneaking out to pee at 2 a.m. Nature is a ceaseless buzzing, grimy reality, and for an OCDr without booze, Wellbutrin or Prozac, icky-sticky camping quickly devolves into PURE HELL.

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