Decompressing

Surrounded by magenta shiny fairy wings, pink cowgirl boots, hula hoop pieces, Odwalla bars, sunscreen, an almost empty bottle of Jameson, and a pile of PEX stickers shoved onto me at my departure - I am forced to decompress.

Fourth of July. Fireworks should be littering the city skies soon, but on the West Side, so not sure how much I'll see. The two hours sleep I snatched last night underneath booming house music post-dawn are somehow sustaining me, though I feel slightly zombie.

But I also feel zombie. I spent the weekend at PEX Summer Festival - a kind of mini-Burning Man in MD. spending all day in the swimming pool or at workshops. It was like a summer camp for Burners. Cafeteria food, I could wear nothing and be accepted - or a gorilla suit. I spent a lot of time hooping (and thus, bothered scar tissue from my surgery of last year, ow). I danced. I did it all.

But this is abt decompressing. This is about walking through McCarren Park in a Burner-designed dress, pink cowgirl boots, pink suitcase and hula hoops and getting the stares. This is about missing my fantasy world where everything was love, where people listened to your problems and held you as you cried - even if you didn't know their real name. This is about how I wish I could just walk around in sparkly booty shorts every day and people would respect me regardless. This is about wishing I could live in a play world full of glitter and el-wire and creativity and community and helpfulness. This is me wishing I could permanently live in Black Rock City.