|Still looking for the bitter...
||[Oct. 22nd, 2007|10:52 am]
|||||Jeff Buckley, Hallelujah||]|
Many folks yesterday at the closing day of Maryland, correctly sensing that "oh, I'm so sad" or "what am I going to do until next season" was going to be met with NOTHING but trouble from me, went with the "bittersweet that it's over" option. For which I was able to occasionally generate some empathy. (Although really -- "I'll miss seeing all of these people..." Pick up the phone. Invite them over. Throw a party. Suddenly, making the invitation list, you're going to realize that the reason you love them so much is that after 9 weekends you really need a break from them. Distance makes the heart grow...
Plus, there's no great falling-off of activity for us -- it'll be a short character gig this weekend, sandwiched by intense Halloween preparations. Then Halloween. Then a weekend full of celebrating a friend's wedding. Then off to CRF. Then...maybe a weekend off before Thanksgiving...then comes the real break. When we're not making up for not seeing (non-faire) friends and family for the entire season. Until it starts up again in February...and for me, Virginia Faire never really stops, it just slooooows down during Maryland and picks up steady steam as soon as Halloween is over.
So, it was a struggle, to not visibly count the hours. To nod sympathetically to the folks who were entertaining the bittersweet notions.
But by 5pm, I was plumb out of bitter and empathy, which I've never got in great supply anyway. Just a pub sing and some packing up...that's all that stood between me and sneakers. And talking normal. And a car ride that will lead to getting into bed. (And, because my captain loves me and is a general stand-up-kind-of-guy, he'll drive and let me pass out in the back of the wagon.)
So, as I stood, watching the pub sing from the camp, my enjoyment of it marred, as usual, by it being all that stands between me and clocking out...I searched for the bitter and found only this:
My house has reached unhygienic levels of squalor. If I do a load of laundry a day, I might catch up by Virginia Faire season.
I have completely tapped both my financial and friend-favor budgets in terms of dog-walking.
Percy's level of hysteria when we come home is reaching new heights. Usually he serenades us when we open the door with houndish howls that start with barking but spiral into a warbling "Ah-woooooooooooooooooooooo" that lasts about ten seconds longer than you think is possible, then it winds down into an almost conversational "Ah-woo-woo. Woo. Woo. Woo-woo. Woo-woo. Woo." Which cracks me up, every time. Last night I got the full treatment, then when I opened the door to take them out for a walk and he saw the captain, he launched into the whole series again...which I'm sure just THRILLED the neighbors.
I got to sleep until 7am today. Well, not really. Pushkin, Spawn of Satan, decided at 5:45 that the necklace I left on the nightstand had to be carefully and painstakingly and JINGLINGLY fished off and onto the floor so that the little dickhead could make off with it as he is wont to do. I was so tired and so unwilling to wake up my bladder just an hour before I had to get up anyway, I was willing to let the little bastard make off with it. Hell, I've got months to figure out where he's hiding this stuff. But no, it had to get caught on the alarm clock and after ten minutes (probably 5 seconds, but I'm prone to exaggeration when I'm trying not to wake up) of listening to him dick around with it, I finally relented "Cut it out you little bastard!" which of course, attracted every cat in the house (Hey, Mom's awake!) and began a round of greyhound ear flapping and water lapping. Clearly it's true that animals are more perceptive than humans because I wasn't even loud when I said "Everyone lay the hell down." But the venom must have been obvious, because the room went dead silent and still until the alarm went off. But this Saturday I will NOT have to get up at 5:30.
Every week I lose three pounds, only to gain them back (and sometimes some extra, o joy!) on the weekend. Why? See the next reason.
After nine weeks, I'm out of reserves. I cannot handle the pressure of being nice to so many people within a day. (And, like a gerbil, I express nervousness through eating. Chewing really. If someone would invent the human equivalent of paper towel cardboard tube, I'd be a happy and thinner person.) I was wearing ragged on my ability to just occupy the same space as that many people. Near 29,000? In one day? Look, I grew up in a town of less than 5,000 people. In the whole town. Oh, sure, there were four times as many chickens, but really, chickens take up a tiny fraction of the psychic space that a person does. Plus, there were just as many cows as people and cows reverse psychic space, injecting cow-size zen (okay, and some methane...) into the atmosphere. The elephants at Maryland try, but can only do so much.
Halloween's coming up and with the heat wave, I put off getting out into the very stifling Halloween room to straighten and organize. Plus, I goofed off all summer instead of refurbishing props. Sigh. So, for those of you who disappointed in the house theme (Pirates, again? Oh, how original!) please keep your comments to yourself. I have a hot wire cutter and I know how to use it. And one of the things I never got around to was "corpsifying" one of my skeletons. It's less work to start with a "fleshy" one than it is to build up from bare bones.
I could go on...but work calls...and yes, I did have fun. And I'll do it again. And let's face it, no one's reading this journal to get their daily dose of happy, happy, joy, joy.