171 diaryland entry for today

 

 

 

Ahh...the weekend. The last weekend I will be at faire for a good
long time. Probably a year or more. Depending on how quickly I can
take care of my magpies travel fiasco debts.

I'll be camping with my sweetie and 7000 of our newest bestest
friends, doing a day of faire, and probably not sleeping much.

The only thing I don't like about weekends is all the running around
preparing for fun. Wash the car. Get the oil changed. Check the PO
Box one last time. Get things squared away with the
dog/cat/house/fish sitter. Grocery shopping. Laundry. Get all the
dirty dishes done, trash out, litterbox changed so that we don't have
to come home to a stink-ass house. Pack. Decide what to wear.
Reorganize the budget for the rest of the month so I can afford the
weekend. Get cash. Cook. Get up at some ungodly hour after staying
up too late getting ready. Make coffee. Drive for 3 hours. Drive.
Park. Walk.

Then this tiny bright moment of having fun.

After that: Drive 3 hours. Take all the stuff out of the car. Unpack.
Put things away. Do laundry, wash dishes, rinse out the cooler, put
away the camping gear. Reassure the dog and the fish that you still
love them. Check the mail again.

Ohyeah, and after all that: Sleep.

I'm sure "Cathy" said it first, but I need a weekend to recover from
the weekend. I'm tired just thinking about it.

I think there is something wrong with me; I dread the work more than
I anticipate the fun. Which, of course, diminishes the fun and turns
everything into miserable drudgery.

*sigh* I don't even know if I know how to have 'fun' anymore. It's
all work. Everything except sleeping. I like that.