|Ode to my Dad, among other things
||[May. 7th, 2012|10:35 pm]
I know, I promise to write and then I don't.|
Now you know what's like to be related to me. Things I need to stop: promising more than I can possibly give. Things you need to help me out with: when I promise ANYTHING in the March-June timeframe, cackle wildly and shake your head ruefully at my inability to come to terms with my reality.
Here's my head: ice, cooler box, send the check, expletive, who can I get to run the power if it arrives on Thursday, cash straps -- what you thought those bills were going to wrap themselves and TELL you how much money there are? lamination, beer deposit check, expletive, rent/own/cost-benefit analysis, okay own, oh, you have none to sell, dude, you're killing me, cast schedule, stage schedule, volunteer schedule, the printing deadline's moved? WTF? I have get them picked up when/where? Order more comp tickets, printer ink, wristbands, where the hell did the paper cutter go, dude, I totally faxed the ABC license to you last week, you'd better have that expletive mead ready for pickup, I don't know, how big was our dumpster last year. Okay, but deeper, because there's expletive BEARS, wait, how did I fail to delegate sanitizing the eight coolers, oh, right, because I remember last year, what do you MEAN you haven't shipped? Cups, oh, crap, cups...mead cups, beer cups, first aid water cups...WRISTBANDS. Seriously, all this technology and there's nothing easier? Really, are you SURE I can't just stamp patrons foreheads? What if it was a cool stamp....You want to volunteer...oh, seven e-mail exchanges and it turns out that you can only work one day for the whole run? Awesome, would love to have you. Except that I've DONE this before and you're not going to show up at all, are you? Wait, what, this entertainer wants two RV spaces and running water...and that one has decided a week before opening that they need more money and wait, what, the health inspector I've invested so much suck-up and make nice time with has moved on and now I have to break in a new one? Shoot me now. PLEASE.
I'm sure it wouldn't be so hard if I weren't sleep deprived from having to put in a good hour or two of faire work every morning before going to work, plus every weekend. Oh, you should write an article about how hard it is to run a Renaissance Faire! Really? Don't have time. How about, if someone's considering it, you just bring them by and I punch them full in the face. And then launch a full-force kick to the nuts/girlies? Now, imagine that for 12 weeks. THAT'S what it's like.
Eh, as close as I'll ever get to having a kid -- it smiles at you, and you're all "oh, isn't adorable? Totally worth it." Convenientally forgetting the discomfort, pain, agony and sleep deprivation.
Fucking Oxytocin. The only thing that could possibly make me believe in Intelligent Design...although it would be more like FratBoy Design. Dude, that totally sucks, throw them an expletive bone, would ya?
Anyway --I have posts...I'm not gone...but I need headspace to make them happen.
Sunday. Sunday at about 1pm, that's when the calm will come. It is what it is. All future striving has significantly dimished returns. Everyone's safe. Everyone's having a good time. It's better than it was. Just...maintain...for four more weekends...then pack it up...and try to do better next time. I love when that finally sinks in.