Blue Wolfe and Friends presents: Camp Here and There.

Episode Forty-Three: Insecure Underachievement

[CLICK]

SYDNEY

I have a strange, lanky and long-necked man with me on this heady dawn! Good morning, campers! The sky is a serene and tranquilizing, pale green, like the calming, algae-ridden currents of sea foam, lazing and lapping at the shores of Mother Earth with a sleeping tongue.

JUNIPER

Right well, “strange man.” Aye, that’s not a very nice moniker is it, old chap? Why, I thought we were chums, you and I! Bosom buddies, partners in crime, two peas in the pod of camaraderie! But alas, oh, how the mighty have fallen, like a scone tumbling tragically from its perch atop a precarious stack of afternoon tea accoutrements.

SYDNEY

[LAUGHING] I’m just pulling your leg, man.

JUNIPER

[CHUCKLES] At this rate you’ll yank my extremity right from the socket, mate!

SYDNEY

[KIND CHUFF] Just explain your thing.

JUNIPER

Right, well, I come bearing a proposition most splendid! You see, I’ve been noticing a certain… shall we say, tightness in the air as of late? A palpable unease, like the discomfort of donning a woolen jumper on a sweltering summer’s day. And my poor Rowan, bless his anxious soul, he’s been remarkably on edge! I fear his nerves are as frayed as a well-worn tweed jacket! I mean, blimey, he’s wound tighter than a two-dollar watch, he is! I’ve never seen him so distressed.

We had a wondrous time in Legsworth this last Spring, visiting my dear old pater and the family fishery. Ah, the salty air, the waves against the weathered hulls, the briny scent of freshly caught sogfish mingling with their own bloodied guts—home sweet home, I tell you! And sweet Rowan, well, he seemed to revel in the simple pleasures of coastal life. He even made friends with the eel choir that nests beneath the jetty—surprisingly polite bunch, that lot, though their rendition of ‘God Save the Queen’ is as much sore as it is trite. They rehearse every dawn in five-part dissonance and frankly, I’ve heard more musical sincerity from my uncle’s taxidermy ferret on the full moon. I told them so—politely, of course—and now I’m banned from the wharf for a few seasons… and quite possibly married to their conductor. It’s all rather murky.

Anyways. You should have seen him, never the type to feel the eternal calm, but he was lounging on the docks many-a-moment. He even helped us haul in a few nets, grinning from ear to ear as the verdant scales of slapjack tumbled about the current.

Such a bloody marvel to witness! And it was the happiest I’d felt since the Crown outlawed marmalade and gravity in the same week. [HE SHUDDERS] The horror…

But alas, since our return to this camp of heres and theres, a switch has been flipped, transforming my lover into a tightly coiled alarm clock. He jumps at the slightest sound, followed he is by a pack of circling birds, and just the other day, I found him huddled in the corner of the mess hall, muttering about uh… the “coming storm.” Any rustle of leaves or chirping squirrel sends him into a tizzy, and he’s been popping those pills you give him like they’re candy.

Frankly, I– Well, I fear for his well-being, Syd-lad. We need to help him rediscover that sense of peace. Otherwise, I worry he may drift away entirely, lost in a maelstrom of his own making.

SYDNEY

Mhm. I agree his panic is worrisome, and that we as a community should try to help him! So what do you suggest we do? .. Uh, good lad?

JUNIPER

Ah, therein lies the brilliance of my plan, ole chap! So I got to thinking, and I says to myself, “Juniper, old boy, what this lot needs is a right proper day of relaxation!” A chance to let loose, unwind, remember the simple joys of summer camp living! I propose we declare today an official “Relaxation Day”! A respite from the daily grind, a chance to unwind, let our proverbial hair down. We’ll engage in all manner of soothing activities – yoga, meditation, perhaps even a spot of scrumbledydumps!! What say you, Sydney? Shall we embark upon this trackway of tranquility together?

SYDNEY

I think that sounds like a great idea, Juniper! And we’ve already gone to Lucille about this. She gave a series of noncommittal squawking I assume was an impassioned yes! Though she did cough up a few paltry brown feathers in the process, so who knows what’s on her mind! Perhaps she got choked up eating a spare sparrow from the window again?

Nevertheless, we’re in the clear! This “relaxation day” sounds positively druzzling, if you ask me! First on the agenda—

JUNIPER

[INTERRUPTING] Druzzling? Now is that a proper word?

SYDNEY

Oh, yeah. Y’know. Like. Uh.

JUNIPER

Mind using it in a sentence for me, lad?

SYDNEY

Like. He druzzled so hard he forgot how consonants work!

JUNIPER

[HE LAUGHS] Right.

[JEDIDIAH LAUGHS IN THE BACKGROUND]

JEDIDIAH

Don’t try to question it, Juniper. You learn that quickly.

SYDNEY

Both of you evil men will feel my claws! It’s plain English!

JEDIDIAH

Mhm. Of course.

SYDNEY

WHATEVER! Juniper says he, quote, “knows a guy” who will be visiting to help us with proper relaxation! So, my orders to you this fine, sea-sky morning are simple– relax! I want you to do absolutely nothing but unwind and let your troubles melt away like a pat of butter on the roof of a midday shed. I realize that this may be a challenge for some of you, what with your youthful energy and insatiable desire to cause… let’s say mischief, but I implore you to resist those prepubescent urges! Besides, that’s what the “guy” is coming for to help with.

So please, laze! Spread about! Unwind your intestines from their bunches! Though there are a few things in particular that I must insist you avoid. Firstly, under no circumstances are you to go anywhere near the abandoned train tracks on the northwest edge of camp. I’ve seen some of you rascals playing around on the sun-bleached, splintered planks as of late, and let me tell you, that is a recipe for disaster! Those tracks are as old and as rickety as Lucille, and just as likely to give out under your weight. Plus, who knows how abandoned they really are? Sure, no one’s seen activity for well over two hundred years—as far as we know—but all it takes is one bad day or something unexpected to come along and smash a corporal form to smithereens! No, no, no, it’s best to steer clear altogether.

Secondly—and I do apologize to all you budding alchemists and cauldron hobbyists—it’s with a heavy heart that we must place a firm ban on the crafting of so-called “potions,” “elixirs,” “mood tonics,” “transmutation teas,” and whatever else you’ve been steeping as of late in the arts and crafts cabin.

Not because I dislike the creativity. On the contrary, I adore your boundless imaginations. I’d bottle your synapses if I could, shake them up with some fizzy water, and sip you all like a tangerine-flavored fountain of youth! But alas, the last bout of camper tincture creativity time brewed a… situation.

Half the population became convinced that they were migrating cloud colonies, drifting pleasantly eastward in search of the Ancient Sky Mouth, as we know all clouds migrate to. They fashioned wings out of cafeteria trays, painted their noses silver, for the aerodynamics, and began whispering in cumulonimbus dialect. One child ascended the radio tower to scream negotiations with the troposphere. Another tried to romance a barometric pressure system. And a third we found flattened and blissful on the camp flag, claiming he was “fog now.”

It took fourteen hours, three helium tanks, and Rowan’s emergency almanac to talk them all down. Even then, a few remain misty around the edges. So as much as it wounds me to say, the age of alchemical innovation is over, my loves. No more brews. No more glycerite. No more questionable mushroom cordials labeled “DO NOT DRINK (unless desperate).” And if you must transfigure yourselves beyond recognition, please do it with paper-mache instead.

[HE CLAPS] But not today! Today you rest, today you underachieve, and that’s an order! We must come together as a community and show our harrowed counselors some thanks, grace, and support in these trying times.

[AHEM]

Yes. A celebration of tranquility, serenity, and supervised sedation. No competitions, no explosions, no panicked running from invisible wolves. Just a day to breathe in, breathe out, and pretend that your bones don’t itch. Don’t start thinking about it.

To start us off right, breakfast will be served in [SOLEMNLY] absolute silence—save for the ambient sound of a slow-moving river I recorded with my mouth last night. Like [HE DOES A RIVER NOISE] Each camper will receive, in order:

One lavender pancake, pre-slept upon by Matthew for enhanced relaxation. Plus the butter we left out on the tool shed earlier!

A tepid cup of chamomile tea brewed under a weighted blanket.

And three whole almonds! You can’t see but I’m holding up a 3. A great amount of almonds, I think. Though you must eat them in the shape of a triangle, clockwise. Otherwise, they tend to expand during digestion.

And for dessert, a single mint napkin to dab away whatever confounded internal impulses remain.

And for those with dietary restrictions, we also have our vegan option: a slightly worried-looking Whimpering Dewpear (otherwise known as the critically endangered Pyrus susurrata).

Please enjoy this meal slowly, so as to take in the relaxing sensations. Remember, breakfast is not a race, but a surrender.

Happy breakfast!

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

SYDNEY

Greetings once more, my little lotus blossoms! The sun has reached its zenith, and with it, our day of relaxation unfurls like a yawning cat in a sunbeam, nesting in the thermal ghost left behind by a departed star, curling into the solar impression left on the floorboards of eternity. I hope your morning has been as tranquil as a cat that’s known only warmth and never time!

Now, let us collectively uncurl our toes and un-tense our appendix as I introduce a very special guest. A dear friend of Juniper’s. A being who once breathed so slowly they were legally declared past tense, but is ever-retaining a steady and lively heart rate of 1 BPM. Please join me, in the softest possible ovation, for the one and only… Seren A. Dippity!

Quiet applause now! [POLITE, PILLOWY APPLAUSE]

Ah, yes. Seren. Where do I even begin describing a creature so serenely unmoored from mortal tension?

Imagine, if you will, a being who moves like spilled tea down an uneven countertop. Seren does not simply move—rather, they sort of… unfold, like an origami swan in a chill breeze. Their limbs appear jointless, bent on a whim. Instead of sitting in a chair, they drape and layer. They become one with the furniture. It’s grotesque, but strangely beautiful.

But Seren is not simply a floppy, floundering fool. They are a Certified Relaxation Technician, a title that I’m told involves years of passive slumber among the wool of Heatherdown Still-Ewes, a breed of motionless livestock native to the fog-thick pastures of Wearthy Fell. The agricultural township nestled deep in the Unmapped Highlands, where nothing is grown that isn’t eventually napped on! There, Seren mastered the ancient calming arts, such as:

Unknotting the Elbow Spiral

Snore Harmonization with Regional Birds

Pulse echoing (requiring a partner and a bucket of ewe’s blood)

Applied Unbothering

And of course, Advanced Stillness!

They claim—often, and with startling confidence—that they are the most relaxed organism in recorded history. And frankly? I believe them. Watching Seren enter a hammock is like observing sinew soften into sentiment. It’s gelatin with purpose. It’s sensual, unsettling, and deeply OSHA non-compliant.

But how has Seren entered our lives so serenely? I asked Juniper how they had met and he explained to me that he, during what I can only describe as a brief period of astral vulnerability, joined an organization known as an M.L.M.—which stands for, I believe, Mystic Lattice of Mindfolding. It’s a sort of subterranean order where you sell tinctures and crystals to ten of your friends, and then they sell tinctures and crystals to ten of their friends, and eventually, if you do it right, everyone ends up thrumming in harmony and the sky opens up to sing you a personalized corporate jingle. Or so I’m told.

Juniper called it a “business opportunity.” Reportedly, he hosted, quote, “oil parties,” wore too many scarves, and apparently kept trying to measure people’s aura with a dingy protractor. All this is to say: never join an M.L.M, kids! A man’s aura is nary your business!

But that’s where he met Seren—top-level distributor of Sereni-Tea™. [AHEM] They bonded immediately over their shared love of decompression, lateral lounging, and networking mixers sponsored by suspicious beverage startups.

And now? Now Seren is here. Ready to lull you into a blissful fugue state using only the power of suggestion and the subtle musk of moss-scented essential fog.

Oh! I forgot I’m obligated to play this mandatory ad break! Er, I mean, Immersive Product Placement Journey.

[AD PLAYS]

Are you tired of being awake in the wrong shape? Sereni-Tea™ is a wellness beverage designed by the relaxation scientists of HarmlessMart Laboratories™ to help you uncoil the internal ribbon of your selfhood and tuck it gently beneath a soft, damp stone.

Each serving is blended with classified proprietary botanicals, herbs selected by the algorithm—then archived in compliance with Subconscious Retention Protocol 7-C and Mnemonic Preservation Index Θ-3—and our exclusive CalmExtract™ compound—laboratory-forged from certified calming agents and measured against the tension curve.

Sereni-Tea™ is perfect for:

Reclining with gelatinous flexibility

Forgetting your name

Feeling damp

Or simply melting into a rug at a casual, social pace

Sereni-Tea™ is non-caffeinated, non-carbonated, and non-liable.

Side effects may include:

Goosebumps

Remembering past lives in someone else’s handwriting

The inability to make appointments without weeping

A light, pleasant ringing in the teeth

“Reactive” molars

Soggy confidence

Mild orb-related hallucinations

Chronological vertigo

Symbols behind the eyelids

An increased fondness for invisible chairs

A belief that all commercial mail is watching

Dreams of drowning in sheep’s wool

Unlicensed astral leakage

Unwanted facial symmetry

A reverse feeling of déjà vu that technically hasn’t happened yet

Untraceable footprints

Heart failure

And in rare cases:

Spontaneous “calm-related” evaporation.

If you or a loved one experience slow laughter, bone humming, hypnotic swirls behind the eyes, or heart failure, please discontinue use immediately and contact your local HarmlessMart Representative.

Sereni-Tea™ has not been evaluated by the Department of Calming Products or the Ethical Beverage Board. It is technically not tea. It is technically not not-tea.

Sereni-Tea™, because sometimes the only way forward is down.

[AD ENDS]

So, my little zen warriors, I encourage you to approach this afternoon with an open mind and a willingness to embrace the unconventional. Under Seren’s guidance, we’ll embark upon a journey of self-discovery and inner peace, shedding the shackles of stress and anxiety like a snake molting its skin.

And who knows? By the end of the day, you too may find yourself draped over a chair, your limbs akimbo and twice their usual length, softly chanting “om” in harmony with the tension curve. But keep in mind, if Seren offers you any oils… or tea, politely decline.

First on the agenda of relaxation activities, we have a series of lighthearted team-building exercises designed to foster camaraderie and melt away lingering tensions. The crown jewel of these activities? A three-legged race that will pair you up with an unlikely partner, forcing you to work together in a dance of awkward synchronicity! Two souls, bound together by a flimsy ribbon, stumbling their way towards the finish line like a pair of drunken lemmings. It’s a surefire recipe for comical mishaps and unexpected bonding moments!

[ROWAN CLEARS HIS THROAT IN THE BACKGROUND]

ROWAN

I uh… I don’t think this is a great idea, Sydney.

SYDNEY

Nonsense, Rowan! It’s all about the teamwork and communication. Plus, it’ll be funny to watch, won’t it? Oh, but kids, those of you with three legs already will be have to be paired with those of you who posses three eyes, all in fairness of course.

ROWAN

[SIGHING]

[SHUFFLING OFF-MIC]

SYDNEY

Oh, don’t be such a wet blanket! In fact, why don’t you be my partner?

[SHUFFLING OFF-MIC]

We can show these kids how it’s done.

ROWAN

I don’t know, Sydney. I’m not really in the mood for–

[SHUFFLING]

SYDNEY

Too late!

ROWAN

Ough!–

SYDNEY

I’ve already tied our legs together! Let’s show these hammerheads what we’re made of!

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

SYDNEY

Well, hello there, my little pitter-pattering palpitations! The sun has dozed off behind the western pines, the crickets have begun fine tuning their legs, and a slick layer of squishy dew is settling across the walls of the mess hall. You know what that means: it’s [STATIC] 21:04PM and it’s a late dinner time! Sorry, Seren’s activities did go on for quite some time.

I’d like to reflect, if I may, on the events of today. I simply must regale you with the tale of our thrilling three-legged race—a test of patience, syncopation, and very questionable ribbon-tying technique.

Indeed, I saw many things today. I saw camper IsBugs and camper Anteater, sworn enemies since the hemolymph debacle of day 2, hobbling across the lawn like a single sentient mygalomorph. I saw Rowan—my reluctant partner in crime—discover that if he stopped resisting and just leaned slightly to the left, we stopped falling down the hill quite as fast. [HE CLAPS] Progress!

And that was only the beginning!

After patching the bruises and celebrating our magnificent communal herd exercise, we transitioned into what the activity packet Seren brought called an “immersive connective sequence.” Positively chilling!

You then participated in a buffet of wellness exercises from the Sereni-Tea™ Relaxation Curriculum, recently approved by HarmlessMart’s Internal Tranquility Board and the legally distinct Committee for Acceptable Communion Practices.

I saw you—yes, you—practicing mirrored breathing with someone who you once held in a tenuous regard. I saw you painting each other’s multiplicities with non-toxic oatmeal and softly weeping because you, quote, “finally understood each other’s communal geometry.” Whatever that may mean. I don’t pretend to understand you children, though I do believe in the transformative power of oat-based empathy!

Meanwhile, somewhere near the bonfire pit, Joshua and Salem, two individuals as different as a flash and a… insert something stupid for Joshua, discovered a shared love of obscure trivia. Did you know that if you whisper a wish into a pine cone and bury it under a sodium lamp, it grows into a city permit? Because now they do. And they screamed it in unison, unprompted, over the laughter yoga circle.

Speaking of the laughter yoga circle… Lucille. Yes. Our very own matriarch of motherly charm. She, too, surrendered. After roughly seventeen minutes of skeptical eyebrow twitching and defensive disciplinary binder clutching, she finally gave in. Her first attempt at laughter yoga was stilted, disbelieving. But then someone, probably Camper Oliver Hum, who always sounds like a harmonica when he laughs, set something loose in her. And there it was. A smile. A real one. Her eyes crinkled. Her shoulders dropped by two entire inches. It was awful. [WHISPER] It was real.

And then came our final activity of the afternoon…

The trust fall. 🙂

It was meant to be simple. A metaphor for community, vulnerability, all that wholesome garb.

One camper climbs a modest platform made of stacked milk crates shoved with loose screws, and throws themselves backward into the arms of their fellow campers—who are, ideally, not distracted by fleeting desires and manipulative beehives.

To great success here at Camp Here & There! I watched as many of you fell. And were caught. There was laughter. There was cheering. There was one incident involving a large toad, but no one was seriously injured and the toad seemed chill about it.

[SOMBER] And then it was my turn…

Of course it was. You looked at me with those wide, youthful eyes and said, “Sydney, you have to do it too!” And I laughed, like it was a joke. Like I wasn’t already made of old scar tissue and brittle intentions. Like I hadn’t spent most of my life learning exactly how not to fall…

Because here’s the thing, my little parakeets: I’m good at catching. I’m great at bracing. I’ve held patients up with arms made of cough syrup and painkillers. But falling? That’s another thing entirely. When your joints are made of rubber-bands and your nervous system sends pain signals like they’re junk mail—relentless, daily, and rarely relevant—you don’t take risks.

But I climbed the crates. My bones creaked and it hurt. Then I looked back and I saw all of you—arms outstretched, eyes hopeful, knees bent backwards in anticipation… and I froze.

Because what if they can’t catch me?

Because what if they don’t catch me?

What if I’m too heavy? Just as spiritually as I am in the flesh. What if I hit the ground and my bones shatter, scattering my pieces among the dandelions and the crabgrass? What if I’m just a dead weight, a liability? [SOFTLY] What if everything I’ve stuffed away spills out?

But then I looked at Rowan. Sweet, nervous Rowan, who had spent the entire day flinching at shadows and popping sedatives. He was there, front and center, arms wide open, a determined set to his jaw. And in that moment, I realized: if Rowan could do this, if he could face his fears to be there for me, then maybe I could do the same.

So I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and…

And I—

I fell.

And you caught me. You all caught me. And for just a moment, it was quiet. Not the usual kind. Not the brittle quiet that creeps up between briny words like mold. No. This was a warm kind of quiet.

So. Thank you.

[CHEERFUL AGAIN] And then—after all the shouting and slipping and oat-based breakthroughs—the activities ended the only way they could: sprawled across the lawn in a loose spread of limbs and laughter, our faces turned skyward to stare at the peeking stars.

The campers were still buzzing from their midday sugar-snacks, the counselors were half-asleep on the grass, and the earth felt softer than usual, like it had agreed to hold us there just a little longer. We lay in a pile of sweatshirts and shared blankets, pointing out constellations that may or may not have existed, inventing new ones just to name them after each other’s strange habits. The Sniveling Sagittarius. The Lost Finger. The Upside-Down Tooth.

And poor, overcooked Rowan. He was lying beside me with his head on Juniper’s arm—eyes open, neck stretched back so he could see the whole sky. But for once, he wasn’t flinching. He wasn’t scanning the horizon or whispering weather alerts under his breath. He was just… still.

Calm, almost.

I know it’s not permanent. He’s had an extra-large dose of sedatives today—approved, supervised, possibly begged for—but even so, it wasn’t the drugs that made it matter. It was the way he let himself be present. The way he traced constellations with his fingers in the air, quietly naming each one with a little sigh, smiling at the campers of his cabin around us.

He told a story, too—low and gentle, barely louder than the wind. Something about a summer storm and a goat named Pippin. The details didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was chuckling while he told it. Not nervously. Not defensively. Just… smiling. Like for a moment, he forgot the sky had teeth.

And maybe that was the point.

Nothing huge happened today. No curses were cast, no secrets revealed. But for a single evening, under a sky that shimmers like old foil, we all exhaled. Together. One big, messy, synchronized breath.

And that was enough. Just for tonight.

Dinner tonight is dreamy dumplings, filled with mystery and featherdown. They’re soft, savory, and ideal for gentle chewing. Accompanying them will be rice soaked in the ambient tension you all released today, and stewed root vegetables, unremarkable in every way but temperature.

For dessert, we have something that looks like flan, smells like conflict resolution, and jiggles like trust.

Eat slowly. You’ve earned it.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

[CLOCK TICKING]

JEDIDIAH

Are you coming to bed soon?

SYDNEY

Yeah. Well, I actually wanted to ask you something.

JEDIDIAH

Oh?

SYDNEY

See, I was wondering if.. well, Adam, who I’ve been talking about, um. I was wondering if you’d like to do, like, y’know, some couple’s therapy stuff with him.

JEDIDIAH

Adam… the demon?

SYDNEY

C’mon, you’ve seen weirder. He seems to know what he’s talking about.

JEDIDIAH

Uh, a demon…

SYDNEY

[ANNOYED] You can’t denounce Christianity and then get uncomfortable at the alternatives.

JEDIDIAH

Er.

SYDNEY

It’s hypocritical.

JEDIDIAH

Agh, that’s not important. Why on Earth do you think we need therapy?

SYDNEY

Jedidiah.

[PAUSE]

JEDIDIAH

… O-Okay…okay, point taken.

[PAUSE]

Does it have to be with him, though?

SYDNEY

Do you know any other licensed therapists eager to visit Camp Here & There?

JEDIDIAH

Hm.

SYDNEY

And that you trust to share about… us?

[PAUSE]

JEDIDIAH

[LIKE A GROWL] Mmgh…

SYDNEY

I think I trust him. Can’t you just respect that?

JEDIDIAH

Uhm, let me think it over, okay? I’m not saying no. I just… he gives me the creeps.

SYDNEY

Alright. Best I can ask for, I suppose.

JEDIDIAH

[BREATHE] Okay. Well, I’m heading to bed, I guess. Come join me when you’re ready.

SYDNEY

Will do.

[CLICK]

With original music composed by Will Wood and produced by Jonathon Maisto. 

Additional music composed by Kyle Gabler and Another You. 

Dialogue editing by Emily Safko.

 Sound design by Blue Wolfe and Another You. 

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Thank you for listening to Camp Here & There! And remember: Clanck’s Constant is Constantly Constantial