Arrowhead hunting is a thing I am liking to be into. It's almost entirely useless: a thing to collect knowledge about, waste hours staring at the ground, and then... what? Best case scenario: find a particular rock that was touched by a human hundreds or thousands of years ago and put it on your windowsill.
Still, like all my love, I beat on. At dinner on Saturday I made conversation about it until my friend Travis ran back into his room for a special box and showed off a perfect, five star Late Archaic period point the size of my palm. He'd plucked it out of future pond on his farm back in his childhood. "South Boston yard trash."
I have never even found a single arrowhead despite looking generally for them my whole life. This is the first time I've approached it like a hobby, but I always thought about them and checked conspicuous places. I've found fossils, civil war bullets, old marbles, fox skulls, boxturtles, cool shards of quartz. Well, maybe 2015 is my year.
No weekday drinking this week. It's supposed to be Blue Monday, but I feel pretty good. Folding and putting away laundry, which is what I spend the most of my life doing, it seems. New Moon in Aquarius, ice moon.
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