Resignations of wilderness

I gave up. I don't know why planning a simple evening is so difficult. The strange thing is that as soon as I gave up trying to plan something, I had plans immediately. Buck Hunter. I don't know what it is that draws us together. Whenever I'm stressed out, whenever I'm bored, whenever I'm frustrated, when I'm dead - I'll want to play Buck Hunter. It makes me think that I should move to Montana and live in a small town, maybe Libby. Where I'd be tucked between the mountains and the rivers. Everyone at the local pub would know me by name and I would know all of them. My wardrobe would consist solely of denim and flannel. A variety of bows and lethal arrows would be seen hanging from the walls, beneath heads long devoid of life. I'd even have a fishing pole or two. Makes me wonder if it would be an easier life than I have now. I kind of doubt it. But I'm sure it would be good for my spirit, until I remembered the ocean...