Counting down
July 14th, 2008I cannot wait to leave. 9 more days until I pick up my rental car (whatever they give me), pack all my and Spawn’s crap into it and head to a farm in the middle of nowhere for 5 days of music, dancing, sunshine, shopping, friends… all that stuff.
Never mind that I have to confirm that someone is, actually, going to feed my cats. Never mind that I still have to clean one more room of the house. Never mind that this coming weekend is one where Spawn is home and I’ll have to follow him around with a bullwhip to ensure that the rest of the house stays in the decent condition that it’s already in. None of that stuff matters. What matters is I am going to my festival!
Every weekend I’m busting my ass to get a little closer to ready, a little less frantic, a little more antsy about it.
In addition, I’m finding that, suddenly, I seem to be in high demand for various things. Phone calls, invitations, conversations on the street, demands/requests on my time of whatever sort, and this is in addition to all the plans I’ve already made. NOT that I’m complaining, mind. In fact, I kind of enjoy it, as long as it’s not actively infringing on my preparations to leave. Which it’s not. Not yet, anyway.
So now I just have to finish a room, keep up on the rest of the house, try to get in touch with my family’s attorney and sell dad’s land, see Batman with Spawn, confirm the catsitter and get the hell outta town.
Cake and pie. This is totally doable.
