• Sarah Royal

Welp. Here We Are.

Ah, hello there. Here’s this new-fangled blog thing that I’ll be using to do the updating thing on my August-through-December frolicking ‘round the world.

Would you like the story so far? Here we are then:

I left Portland, Oregon one week ago, after a stellar going-away party – featuring a quite cathartic dunk tank in which I spent a good portion of the evening. Each time I think about it, the first scene that plays is myself and my two old roommates alone on the dance floor, with Drake blaring in the background narrating my leaving-Portland panic and healthy life reminder:

What am I doing? What am I doing? Oh yeah, that’s right, I’m doing me

I got two very telling glances and smirks from said roommates. It was only appropriate.

The next morning/same morning, after a bleary-eyed brunch, tearful goodbyes, and some last-minute FedExing, I was whisked away to the San Juan Islands by seven dear friends of mine for several days of hammock-camping and debauchery. This included: + an eight-hour boat ride watching lots of porpoises and seals + whale tail sightings from the beach + nearly being eaten by guard dogs + a friend dropping his iPhone in the ocean + another friend sketching Sharpie tattoos on young children (with parental permission) on the ferry + hyperactively excited summer camp host teenagers that said ABSOLUTELY! to any request + owning a bar (again) + sunsetz + beerz + love

We parted ways and said goodbye on the bridge over Deception Pass – and I’m sure there’s a metaphor or something poetic and shit in there somewhere, but I can’t find it right now. My driver took me to the Mount Vernon Amtrak and shared a final IPA with me, and I headed off to Vancouver, BC. Where I am now. And where I have been for the last few days. The boat is late.

But no matter! I’ve been entertaining the hell out of myself here in America: Lite, and have managed to do a hell of a lot already. I laid out on some rocks on the jetty to watch the sunset. I ate sushi and drank a $10 beer (gotta ease into those NYC prices). I went to a punk show at the Cobalt. I rented a road bike – which happened to be the same make and model as my own bike, save for the fact that mine has a lady seat (yes, it turned out to be quite important) – and biked 50ish miles in the mountains and trees and up to a lighthouse. It was a savory, end-of-living-on-the-West-Coast moment.

I’m about to pop over to the beach again in a few hours to see if I can spot the good ol’ cargo freighter coming into the harbor – and then I think it’ll feel real. Save for a few freaky dreams with whatever is swirling around in my subconscious, I haven’t felt the pangs of change just yet. Oh, I’m sure they’ll arrive – I’m just trying to put it off as long as possible, donchaknow.

I love all of you fools. Leave me ridiculous comments, please. I’m off to listen to Drake. He is from Canada, after all.

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