I slept fitfully, woke often with an engorged, gassy belly and a head full of things to do. I am an earthy, grounded creature, sometimes too much so for my own good. Transition, change of routine, personal upheaval make my mind race and my digestion halt to a crawl yanking my body in different directions. I am leaving in two days for the biggest journey I have engulfed upon in ages. I am going to Burning Man, and in so doing realizing a goal of many years. I am also, I think, finally leaving the man that I love. He doesn't know it yet. The sheer fact that I can write that announcement in my public journal before I tell him is a sign to myself that I ought to have done this long ago. He doesn't read my blog. It has never occurred to him to do so even though I have discussed at length how my words are my art, that writing is my saving grace, that with my words I attempt to save his life. It never occurred to him that what I say might matter enough to him to pursue even though sometimes I post on his computer and I send out a link to my blog in my every e-mail.
The abdominal rumbling just got worse, downward motion to accompany the heightening emotion. For two years, ever since his psychotic break before he went to rehab that man has ruled my bowels. But I did not wake up this morning to write about him, I woke to the sound of my roosters crowing, to a monstrous flock of crows and other morning birds loudly cacophonous. I woke to a text message from my beloved Burning Man traveling partner that simply said, "Burning Man! Aaaaaaaaaaa!" I woke to plans of completing my mix CD as a gift to others on the playa. I woke to a head full of packing plans and last minute errands and a house needing a thorough cleaning before I embark and laundry still drying that belongs in my suitcase and new love. I woke to my own Hope and Fear for the Future and exhilaration and exhaustion. I am awake? Already? Again?
I will miss my babies, and I will miss the cool mountain greenness of my home. I will miss my dogs and my cats and my chickens and my snakes, those that live in the house and those that live in my yard, a constant threat lurking in the grass. I will miss my crisp cotton sheets and firm mattress. I will miss my dear friends and the new friend who occupies so much of my thoughts these days. I will miss long baths and hot tub soaks under the waxing moon. I may miss the internet. I will probably miss my blog. At moments I will likely miss my sanity while I rage long into the desert night in silly outfits and fur-lined boots and a head full of psychedelic trance and psychedelic thoughts. I wouldn't have it any other way.
I am going home to a strange new land, dusty and dry, daring and delightful. I will meet new people and see new stars and think new thoughts. I will wash my feet in vinegar and shower under a tepid gallon of water from a tube. I will ride a bike (for the first time in years) decked out with a bell and purple streamers and red flashing lights. I will stroll languidly and naked in the sun and dance vigorously to keep warm in the night. I will trip and trip and trip and trip. I hope I get to kiss new lips. I will eat lycii berries and raw chocolate bars and emergen-c packets to keep up my strength. I will glory and gush and giggle. A lot. My Burning Man girl and I, we giggle ourselves hoarse.
The day after tomorrow I get on an airplane and fly someplace new. I'll see you on the playa.