August just arrived at Burning Man and sent me a selfie. I should be congratulating myself that I don't have to be planning the huge decontamination ritual for when he comes home but instead I miss him so.
No one from the house is going to Burning Man, either. I think I've gotten a little too princessy for these sorts of things, frankly. If I deviate from my standard routines all hell breaks loose.
For example, yesterday. I grabbed the nearest body wash in my rush to get a quick shower, using a tiny bottle Lochlan brought back from our trip. Had a huge allergic reaction it and went to bed last night softly whimpering and jacked out on allergy pills and calamine because hives, inside and out.
So somehow I don't see myself living in a dusty tent for a week, in spite of the fun it must be.
August loves it. I think he does a lot of drugs while he's there and only while he's there. I think he uses it as a place to have some sort of spirital out of body experience/awakening and I've learned not to ask too many questions about it because it sounds amazing and horrifying all at once.
This from us, the crew who can't even seem to get to the Chinese night market. Because meh. Too far. Too late. In my pajamas. Concerts are pretty much the only reason I leave the house anymore.
That and trips to go get more cake.
I bet they don't have cake at Burning Man. I mean, the kind that would be safe to feed your kids.
(If you need me I'll be in my ivory tower.)
