Life kinda feels like I'm in a holding pattern, just circling the same couple of points over and over. Wake, work, eat, sleep, repeat. I've been trying really hard to get out and have some fun on the periphery but so far that hasn't really been often enough to feel like I've broken this spell.
Went to beerfest on friday and drank beers with some cowerkers. Not terribly much else to say in that respect, aside that it was fun. Saturday the roommates and I packed into a borrowed SUV with a yurt and gleam in our eye, and headed to Long Beach. We went an odd way which had us duck through Oregon and cross back over through Astoria. For those that don't know, the bridge over the river in Astoria is pretty much the most terrify edifice of man's hubris ever created. It's two lanes that soar straight up and an angle that causes the reptilian part of your brain to howl in primordial terror. But aside from that the ride was pretty uneventful. We found the group on the beach, and unpacked the yurt most efficiently. It was then I had the passing fancy to apply sunscreen, but NOO. Suffice to say I got burnt to a very crisp pink. But that was later. Currently the numbers were significantly less numerous than I had expected, which would be later explained by a certain "Llama" as the kids say it these days. Well the Llama broke his fucking collarbone within thirty minutes of me showing up, so all's well that ends well. Further llama reared later when certain parties decided throwing fireworks into the active and populated bonfire was a grad old time. Repeatedly. After being told not to. I'm honestly kinda glad that the roommate Steve decided to step in. Lets see if he can keep himself out of further trouble.
We fireworked for a bit, which was a decent way to quickly sober myself further, what with the dealing with fire and the running from my carefully set explosions. One mortar that burst on the ground that managed to send a fragment bouncing off my arm and onto my jacket. After checking to see how bad the burn on my arm was, I was informed that I was slightly on fire. Whoops. I now have a quarter sized welt on my arm, and a nickel sized hole in my jacket. I think America owes me thirty cents.
We then crashed in the yurt. I will not forget my sleeping bag. Nor will steve forget to tie down the roof next time. The wind was angry enough that I swore that the roof was removing itself in an attempt to find shelter. I might have gotten an hour or two of sleep before finally waking up. We packed the yurt in the small quiet motions of the recently dead, and headed our way back home.
Home was showers and previously planned barbecues. Spare-ribs, burgers, beer, and people. I could get used to that, but would have preferred more of a nap. I had a young dog trample my my sun and fire burnt arm. I also had a young woman trample me, but she was more conscious of the state of my appendages.