On the road

As the me continues to dissolve, me still trudges along, faithfully packing up me's hiking gear and tent with each shift in perspective, and setting up camp at the next post. Then me enjoys sitting around the fire and telling stories of what happened. Commenting all along as if this was something about me and my journey. It's a funny character, me, really believing in myself. I am who I am and that's who I am, type. Ten points for consistency and defiance in face of glaring obviousness. Me wants to relate the amazing experiences of having been in mortal danger on me's path, to other me's me believes in, hoping they would recognize and acknowledge how far on me's journey this me has progressed. But secretly, me is also afraid because me believes that other me's might not admire me but might instead tell me that me is full of shit. And that would be embarrassing to me because me would then be forced to believe them. Me can pretend all me wants but me cannot hide from me because me, in one form or another, always sees me. Me is on the road to doom, consoling myself along the way with lays of me's heroic journey. And only me cares.