|Thank goodness THAT'S over!
||[Aug. 31st, 2009|04:04 pm]
Oh, I hate opening day of Faire. Hates it, hates it. I mean, you have to have one...or you can't get to second weekend. Unless you're a fast food restaurant. They seem to have no problem having a Medium, without having had a small. But I don't like to encourage that, so I will keep the concept of Opening day...but reserve the right to detest it. |
The week or two leading up to it is just filled with so much high tension -- the omigodwhereis and the sevenmorestopsandI'llhavepickedupeverything and the howthehellcouldIforgetNaproxen. The finding, the unpacking, the cleaning, the repacking, the hauling out to site, the setting up of site. Too many nights with too little sleep.
The beastly weather. The remembering where everything chafes and pinches and oh, why oh, why did I think I should make this outfit last one more year and why, all summer long did I just continue to gain and lose the same freaking five pounds, which has moved into my body like some loser relative who thinks that filling out an online application once a week is a "job search".
The very same five pounds that make it impossible for my breasts to fit inside my bodice with say, my liver and kidneys. Which, I know, makes so many men happy. But you know, really, there's only one guy I NEED to make happy and he gets to see them all of the time. I would settle for being comfortable over making guys drool. Really. And you know what, they still look pretty good, even when they do fit comfortably. Plus there is not that horrendous pinching of my precious's between the top of the bodice and someone else's bodice, chest, baldric, armor or whatever. It's hard to go all day, getting a hug, feeling excruciating pain and NOT punching the crap out of the hugger. 'Cause it's not their fault. THEY didn't make me eat that pint of ice cream.
And then coming face to face with the bad knee, the bad heel, the bad toes...all of the things that say "you may need to think carefully about your future". Denial is so much harder when you spend all day on your feet.
Oh, sure it's great to see everyone. I really have missed a lot of people and we, the Captain and I, do need to figure out how to tuck more social events and less work (and sloth) into our schedule. Okay, not everyone. There are so many broken people and there is so little of me left to empathize, especially wrung out on Opening Day.
Hey, remember me, the Misanthrope? I've been happy as a clam being a near hermit for almost two months. And I go from that, from infrequent, measured, careful contact to instant immersion in a big giant pool of people with and without issues. And I think someone peed in it.
My head spins with people's good news, their bad news, their news. Their lack of news. The sights of strangers who should be wearing more clothes. Or clothes of a larger size. Or clothes that cover...things better. And then I feel horrible because I should be glad that they have such self-confidence and self-acceptance.
So, yes, that slightly pained look. My feetkneetoesankle hurt. My nipple has suffered great injustice. I'm out of empathy/sympathy/tolerance AND feeling guilty about it. I'm still sober because I've been so damn busy. I don't have a routine yet. I've forgotten the crucial ten minute lay on your back in the tent where no one can get to you, stare out the skylight at the pretty leaves and reboot halfway through the day.
And here I am today, thinking...that was still better than a good day here at work.